


Heavy on my heart

by StormXPadme



Series: Tales Untold [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Animal Death, Arguing, BDSM, Bisexual Male Character, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Captivity, Casual Sex, Cemetery, Depression, Dildos, Dunland, Eregion, F/M, Fights, Gondor, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Healers, Horses, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Infertility, M/M, Mearas, Medical Procedures, Memory Alteration, Minas Tirith, Miscarriage, Morning Sickness, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Original Character Death(s), Outdoor Sex, Polyamory Negotiations, Pregnancy, Rebels, Reconciliation, Rivendell | Imladris, Rohan, Sailing To Valinor, Semi-Public Sex, Separations, Third Age, Torture, Worms, based on movies and books except for the Hobbit movies, black Mearas, gee look at these tags, irritating lube, part time boyfriends with more issues than imladris daily, still 3000 years old non-virgin-anymore sex, that's what you get when the first chapter is glorestor, the epic tale of Aragorn being done with the whole family Oropherion's shit, they're trying ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25612003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme
Summary: Aragorn is finally on his way to his new future as King of Gondor and Arnor when his fellow travelers and he are faced with the realization that the end of the war doesn't mean the end of riots.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Legolas Greenleaf, Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Arwen & Original Female Elf Character(s), Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien), Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Elf Character(s), Éomer Éadig & Original Female Elf Character(s), Éomer Éadig & Éowyn
Series: Tales Untold [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559689
Comments: 46
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1 (M/M smut)

**Author's Note:**

> Cover: http://racoonicorn.myartsonline.com/homh.jpg
> 
> This is a translation of part #5 of one of my longest finished German fanfiction series (https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/45f505fc0000161f06700fa0/1/Tales-Untold-HEAVY-ON-MY-HEART-5-). I am not a native speaker and apologize for any mistakes. The "Tales Untold"-series focuses much on Aragorn, Legolas and their respective relationships, but there's lots of other important plot lines coming into play, one of the biggest revolving around Glorfindel and Erestor.
> 
> The series combines the book verse with some circumstances from the movieverse, it ignores all of three of the Hobbit movies though (I wrote most of this series before those movies even were a thing). It's slightly non-compliant in places but I'm always trying to keep close to canon.
> 
> "Heavy on my heart" is set a few weeks after the War of the Ring.
> 
> Comments are more than welcome. I'm thirsting for them like so many others.
> 
> WHAT HAPPENED SO FAR:  
> Legolas has been in love with a young healer elf from Lórien named Tarisilya for a thousand years, but due to King Thranduil's aversion against Lórien, the relationship was a secret until after the War of the Ring. Being parted from her family in the war, who now lives in Valinor, broke Tarisilya's heart and almost had her wither away. At Cair Andros, Aragorn healed both her and Arwen, who got injured at the Battle of the Black Gate. Arwen's wound very likely has left her infertile, so Aragorn and she traveled to Imladris where Arwen's family tried to further heal her. Legolas and Tarisilya came along as protection and support. With Thranduil and Lady Galadriel being present in Imladris as well, to officially seal the reconciliation of their realms, Legolas and Tarisilya took the chance and got married there before the group left to ride back to Gondor.
> 
> Erestor and Glorfindel meanwhile, start to realize more and more that there's far more than physical attraction between them, but don't want to address that for a number of reasons. Erestor has repeatedly asked Glorfindel to join the army for the last necessary border security after the war, so he can feel like he's being more useful than in the library, and a few days before this chapter is happening, Glorfindel has reluctantly, finally agreed.

**_I_** f there was one sound, Glorfindel usually didn't expect to hear from Erestor's chambers, it was music.

It happened rarely enough that he met his old friend in those private chambers in Lord Elrond's palace of his at all, the plain furnishing of which had always spoken of Erestor preferring to spend his days in the library. As an adolescent in Gondolin, Elrond's chief advisor had often enough found himself being trapped in his room by family pressure and his own insecurities. Unless the two of them happened to get together over too much wine, a too long game of chess or – as in the last few years, they had been doing again with unexpected regularity – one of their casual games in the bedroom, there usually wasn't much life taking place in here.

It was, accordingly, easy to forget that as a young adult, Erestor had not only devoted himself to the art of the written word; especially since the rulers he had served so far had, understandably, mainly taken advantage of his keen mind.

This evening, as well, Glorfindel had actually thought to find his friend with his nose stuck in a dozen parchments and books simultaneously. So he paused at the door for an astonished moment, with his hand raised to knock already, when the bright whistle of a flute, made of pure silver, reached his ear. It stopped the moment his knuckles hit the massive, bare wood surface, and a hint of regret sneaked into Glorfindel's heart. On another day, he would gladly have seized the chance to finally see into Erestor's complicated soul again after all this time. But given what he'd just learned from an unexpected message from Gondor, time was actually far too short for muse.

"Shouldn't you be in the stable?" The confusion still remained when the door was answered. Frowning, he eyed Erestor's unusual topless state and the instrument in his right hand that in spite of, impressively, enduring several Ages, didn't show any traces of usage at all.

At least no new bruises on Erestor's skin, as pale as it was once more. So contrary to Glorfindel's concerns, he had not used the past few days that he'd spent secluded in the mountains, to not have to witness the wedding of his former crush from up close, to once more numb his mental pain with physical one. That was progress. By now, the distance to this whole thing was big enough.

"We're not leaving until tomorrow," Erestor explained to his surprise. "We wouldn't be able to catch up with Estel and the others anyway. And they will take a few days of rest in Rohan. Time we rather use to get to the bottom of the situation in Gondor." Since Glorfindel's brow was still furrowed in disapproval, Erestor nodded him inside with a good-natured roll of his eyes and vaguely pointed to his fireplace, where like always, a bowl of that objectively pretty disgusting tasting brew was boiling that they both were so partial to when their souls needed soothing.

"The Lord wants to look up a few things before we take care of this tiresome matter. He's been causing utter chaos in the library for hours. I'm in no mood to witness that. When it comes to concerns of Men, he's a bigger expert than I anyway."

"And you leave out the one this concerns most?"

Not an entirely absurd decision. Glorfindel could understand that Elrond didn't want to burden his foster son and especially his daughter right now. Not so shortly after the really charming festivities in celebration of the wedding of the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and his century-long secret love from Lórien. An event that hopefully had provided all of these persons, so important to the upcoming Age, with the necessary serenity to face their upcoming challenging duties. The next bad news were apparently not supposed to reach them on a return journey that would be dangerous enough, all without any additional distraction and unnecessary haste, because Glorfindel had not been able to dispatch an escort. Not as long as the valley's borders were endangered both by last orc groups, scattered after the war, and, as of late, by some Dunlendings gone feral.

Especially because of the latter, however, a ride in a bigger group in which the better part of the members would at least be able to hold a sword right, would have been a safer alternative.

"Estel needs to know. You should join them while you can."

"Good luck with finding out which route the Chieftain of the Dúnedain takes when he wants to take his people home inconspicuously." Erestor rolled his eyes again, with the weak grin he so often regarded Glorfindel with when he was long finished analyzing a situation and, mostly, had reached an admittedly more useful conclusion than him. "If we happen to meet them on the way, even better. But actually, I first want to know what's going on there. If we discourage the future King of Gondor and Arnor before he even wears the crown, possibly needlessly, we can forget about a few last peaceful years in these realms."

Instead of joining him at the fire, Erestor came to stand at the window and raised the flute to his lips again, these full, pretty lips that in the last few years had twisted into an expression of worry and fear far too often. Glorfindel had hoped, that would change now that there would only be occasional serious trouble on Middle-earth. That now instead, Erestor would face the biggest in the most important realm of Men of all places and not help Glorfindel out with fighting some enemy lowlife as planned, which Glorfindel had only reluctantly agreed to anyway … It was really hardly surprising that the usually so composed Noldo seemed so agitated tonight.

"I haven't heard you play in decades." Glorfindel was busier turning his almost full cup from one side to the other with restless fingertips, than with drinking from it. With his eyes half closed, for a few moments, he fully indulged in the slightly hectic hymn of their former mutual home. On a day like this though, that didn't help soothe his own tension any more than a little bit of nerve poison could. Probably that was the real reason for coming here.

Erestor shrugged tiredly and put the instrument aside as the missing practice started to show; during the repeat of the chorus, he'd missed the highest notes not one but two times. After these trying last few days, there wasn't much left of his usual discipline. "Just a weak attempt of leading my thoughts back into a coherent tide. Don't you know, there's never anything useful coming from it when I wander beyond my expertise?"

That massive wall of cynicism had Glorfindel shudder. Not for the first time, he wondered if Erestor ever let the Lord hear it when Elrond just went over his head, making decisions like today's. Or if Erestor had long unlearned how to use his usually so energetic voice for his own interests for a change.

Or if Elrond had only forgotten how to listen in the last few centuries of constant loss, because the last of his strength to keep everything in this realm together, came partly from both their support.

"You won't be gone for long. You've been solving this valley's problems for two Ages. Men's can hardly be worse."

"I won't know that until we arrive. And you know exactly, the Lord won't rest until the situation is fully defused." Erestor left the living room without even looking back over his shoulder. A clear hint that he wanted Glorfindel to leave, actually – if he hadn't left his bedroom door wide open and wouldn't already be busy shedding the rest of his clothes as well.

It was, once again, not the right evening for in-depth conversations about matters of their hearts. And Glorfindel started to doubt that they would actually be able to bring themselves to seriously have one before they would leave these realms behind.

For the moment, he could only provide Erestor with the necessary support of exactly that nearness that on such days of continuing frustration, allowed them both to escape into oblivion.

And with the assurance that unlike Elrond, Glorfindel had not forgotten Erestor's wishes and ambitions. "I'll keep your position here open for you." Just for a moment he kept Erestor at distance, with both hands wrapped around his forearms, after kneeling down on the bed next to him. His tunic, weapon's belt and boots long lay in a forgotten heap of routine in some corner.

"How? It isn't even open yet." His partner just smiled, joylessly, leniently.

Though he hadn't even been in the valley when the majority of these ugly new disputes had unfolded, he knew, of course, how vehemently Thondrar had insisted on taking Aragorn's group to Gondor. Especially since he would soon serve as surrogate leader of what would surely be the last elf dwelling in Middle-earth anyway.

A good-bye that would be unpleasant enough without having to deal with issues regarding the management of Glorfindel's troops, no matter how much affection he felt for Elrond's foster son and Arwen, or for the unusual couple by their side. On such a comparatively harmless trip, two Companions of the Ring-bearer, hopefully, provided enough combat strength to fend off possible trouble.

A few months from now would still be early enough to face his very own personal failure of this last Age. "It will be. Thondrar leaves us as soon as he has trained a successor."

"Which you could do just as well. I swear if he rearranges the library out of boredom, just because there's not enough orcs left for him to flay to make them betray their comrades, I'll have _you_ repair all that. It's bad enough that down there, the Lord and the twins will turn everything upside down as soon as I turn my back to them. Do you think, putting this off will make it easier, Fin?"

Very gently but firmly, Erestor freed himself from his grasp and curled one of Glorfindel's hip-length strands of hair around two fingertips. It seemed more thoughtful than anything, not like a gesture of tenderness that they both mostly kept their distance to. Otherwise, they would have treaded too dangerously close to a permanent relationship that neither of them had ever had been interested in, and that in every of these nights of unbridled passion, they could only avoid so arduously by the conscious decision against it anyway.

"Some trouble we will not be able to solve in these realms anymore. Too much has happened for that. A few decades, give or take, won't make a difference now." Again, there was this endless resignation in his voice. No, Erestor was not only talking about the elf, Glorfindel had tried, in vain, to build a normal relationship with all these centuries. They both had had to bury quite a few dreams in this Age, and Erestor was right about one thing … They were running out of time.

Having to admit something like that to yourself hurt; and that kind of pain, right from the start, they simply had best been able to vent on each other.

So this time, Glorfindel didn't stop Erestor when he pushed him back on the mattress and opened the laces of his breeches impatiently. At that, he noticed for the first time a mishmash of tools definitely not meant for work on Erestor's nightstand that drew a surprised – and not exactly reluctant – gasp from him. His pulse was racing already before Erestor's hand even pushed inside his breeches, the usual damn clever movements turning Glorfindel's budding interest into arousal in a matter of seconds. It seemed, his lover had let himself be inspired by various toys, Glorfindel had confronted him with a few days ago … Sometimes he still had to remind himself that Erestor had been managing to constantly surprise him for three Ages.

"Where is all this coming from?"

Erestor feigned a bored one-sided shrug. "Didn't have much to do in the past few days, except for carving." That was as all he had to say about this rash trip to the surroundings of the valley. Anything else wouldn't have been very unconducive for the mood anyway.

He rather busied himself in completely undressing Glorfindel and bending over his lap.

Glorfindel hardly got a chance to gasp for air or even begin attending to any touch on his part before Erestor's enthusiastically sucking mouth started spoiling him already, the playful pressure of his lover's tongue and the roof of his mouth driving him crazy within seconds. With one hand on the bed frame, seeking purchase, the other buried in Erestor's thick jet black hair, Glorfindel tried in vain to get his breath back under control, at least enough to communicate to his lover that going half as fast would have easily sufficed.

But Erestor didn't give him much of a chance to choose. After Glorfindel had recently introduced him to the art of suppressing a certain reflex in one's throat completely, it was no problem for him anymore, taking the entire length of Glorfindel's cock, and he made good use of that fact. A challenging glint lurked in his dark eyes when they found Glorfindel's. With his hands on Glorfindel's behind, in firmly massaging movements, he swallowed around the highly sensitive head of Glorfindel's cock a few times until it was throbbing harder and harder, and only retreated when Glorfindel's hips shot up, Erestor's name coming from his too-dry lips in a warning moan.

"Not so fast. We should make the best of this night while we still can." That dangerous, mischievous shine still in his eyes, Erestor let a piece of yarn slide over Glorfindel's chest, teasing one of his pebbled nipples with it while gently biting down on the other, the tip of his tongue thoroughly toying with it, until Glorfindel pressed longingly into that touch as well.

Only a distraction, of course, but since Glorfindel didn't raise any kind of protest, it only took a few seconds before the swift movements of always slightly cool hands had tied off the base of his cock and his balls that had already pulled suspiciously close to his body. Anything else would indeed have been a waste since it was impossible to tell when they would meet again.

Actually, submitting so willingly wasn't in his nature, but after the last few emotional days, Glorfindel felt too exhausted to start one of their usual struggles for dominance. Instead he let himself fall, in a way that – his late wife aside – only this elf had ever really been able to get him to, in all these millennia. All doubts and remorse about their difficult relationship were banned into the rearmost part of his soul for the moment.

He only too gladly allowed himself an excited shiver spreading from his neck downwards, prickling deep in his groin, when Erestor reached for that toy on his nightstand, he had been working on. It resembled exactly the shape of Erestor's cock that too was prominently protruding from between his legs already. Indeed, _someone_ obviously wanted to return the favor of their last, quite demanding game.

"Feeling narcissistic tonight?" Glorfindel would maybe have been a little ashamed on the breathless desire in his voice if it hadn't been for the at least as aroused way, Erestor pressed his loins into his tensed thigh, leaving a lustful whitish trace there, a sight that had Glorfindel instinctively lick his lips once more.

"I hear no objections," Erestor remarked dryly, after a provocative, much too soft licking along Glorfindel's twitching cock that drew another loud moan from him. "Good for you; I would have to take that personally. After all, this is for you …" He had oil on him already, but then he paused and turned around on the bed in a flash – of course he hadn't missed Glorfindel staring. He brought his lower body so temptingly close to Glorfindel's face that all Glorfindel had to do was pull him close with an impatient grasp around his firm behind, to get his own lips on Erestor's steely erection now. Working it with his tongue and only a pointed hint of teeth, the way his partner liked it, he surrendered completely to the careful exploration that Erestor started between Glorfindel's trustfully opened legs.

Soon enough, Glorfindel pressed his hips down against the intrusion, something he hadn't experienced like that in a long time, moaning out his lust around Erestor's cock again and again, enjoying the tremble that went through his lover at that. Whereas except for the occasional almost absent-seeming kiss, Erestor completely ignored how Glorfindel's erection strained against its bonds which didn't exactly make concentrating on his own efforts easy.

His mind increasingly clouded, Glorfindel also needed a moment to understand when Erestor pushed the oil vial towards him with a pleading look back over his shoulder. Given the thorough use of that phallus, actually, he had been sure that this game was going a whole different direction.

"Don't you want me?"

"Maybe later." Erestor's cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red than the one of arousal. "I need you inside of me, Fin. Tonight, I need to feel you. And I thought …" Again, his fingertips slowly circled the end of the toy deeply buried inside Glorfindel, pressed it down until the nudge to Glorfindel's already oversensitive prostate drew a hoarse groan from him. "Maybe you want to feel me too when I ride you …" Slightly embarrassed, he raised his brows at Glorfindel, his chin.

The shiver that spread all over Glorfindel's body now, and the way he wordlessly reached for the vial to prepare his lover, seemed to say enough. Well, it wasn't Glorfindel who would spend the next week on horseback nonstop.

That Erestor was indeed yearning for challenge himself, Glorfindel only realized when the scent of the oil filled his nose. This was different from what his partner was using there. It smelled almost exactly like the stinging nettle mixture that Glorfindel had tortured Erestor with last time. "What …?"

Erestor's deprecating headshake cut him off. No, this was no mistake. His partner obviously intended to think back on this night over the next few days … And for Glorfindel, he wanted to leave a not too pleasant token as well. Just in the unlikely case that he would miss this insolent eccentric down there in his library 24 hours in already. "Please …"

Actually, Glorfindel disapproved of Erestor distracting himself from his problems with too much strain, especially in their bed. And something in this word, too quietly spoken, that someone like Erestor could only so rarely get out anyway, broke something open in Glorfindel that would haunt him for months after that night. That in this moment, completely caught up in their game, Glorfindel hadn't fully noticed something important, maybe for the first time since they knew each other, should soon cause him more than one sleepless night.

No matter how often he claimed the opposite … Erestor still had no idea where his limits were.

But Erestor still regarded him with this heated glance, full of desperate thirst for distance to everything that had been torturing him for so many centuries; so he gave in and started to stretch his partner’s so eagerly presented opening. Quickly as well as soberly, and just enough to make sure that Erestor wouldn't completely overdo it.

When Erestor then pushed himself onto him, torturously slow, Glorfindel’s moan was swallowed by a deep kiss, by Erestor's arms wrapping around him firmly, while his lover rolled his hips against Glorfindel, making him feel every inch of that damn toy inside him. Until finally, the annoying sting and itching from the oil inside Erestor’s slick channel had faded almost completely to the background.

Now the damn restraints around his arousal made themselves felt extremely strongly instead. It took only a few minutes until Glorfindel started to writhe against Erestor, in, of course, exactly the way, his lover had planned, with one or two rude curses on his lips, aroused beyond his limit and still not tempted for even a single moment to put an end to the whole thing. The warrior’s pride in him alone would never have allowed him to do so, though maybe that night, it would have been better.

Only in the early morning hours, they finally put an end to it, because the departure for Gondor was quickly approaching. During the short healing herbal bath that they both allowed themselves then, to at least not limp to their respective duties too conspicuously, in spite of a few gentle touches under the calm surface, the mood didn't really want to strike again.

At some point, Glorfindel left Erestor alone to start helping him get packed, seeing as he was the one who had kept him from it earlier.

Erestor joined him when he stowed away the last, very personal piece of luggage in the bag between the others, nicely tied-up and protected by a dark cloth, and raised a brow at him, slightly skeptically. "I go to Gondor to work."

"As an advisor at a court of Men, you need all the _coherency_ you can get." Ignoring him, Glorfindel secured the flute with another piece of rope and stepped back, an unhappy sigh on his lips.

It was ridiculous; the two of them had parted for much longer spans of time, and to go on far more dangerous quests … Nevertheless, not for the first time, Glorfindel felt there was something about this whole thing, he didn't like at all. That in his ongoing grief, and due to that distance to his surroundings he'd created after Arwen's decision, Elrond might, for once, indeed have made the wrong decision. But these were just matters he never got involved in, ever.

"Take care of this, Erestor. For Estel and Arwen. I'll be here when you get back."

"Maybe you shouldn't be, though." Erestor was suddenly unable to look at Glorfindel ... And Glorfindel himself couldn’t bear the look in these broken eyes, so haggard, so detached again already, any longer either. "A new life has been waiting for you in the west for a while now. You have no reason left to linger here."

"Yes. I do." With that, Glorfindel left the chambers, maybe a little faster than necessary. Well, as fast as that twinge in his lower body after a little too enthusiastic fun in the last few hours let him. There was much more, he could have said, maybe should have … But not on a day when Erestor had enough other stuff to deal with.

Once both of them would have finished their last duties in these realms and retreated to a place much more peaceful than this world would ever be … Then they would have enough time to finally really sort out whatever it was that was going on between them. Hopefully then, the one person in this constellation considerably concerned by a possibly additional deeper relationship in Glorfindel's life, would be able to be present, too. It could still wait until then.

It would be the last time, Glorfindel could successfully tell himself that lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note on the sexual techniques mentioned in this chapter: Irritating lube is not advised for beginners and definitely not without warning the partner beforehand, as the use is numbered among tunnel games. Besides, always keep an eye on the ingredients and don't mix lube yourself unless you know what you're doing, as unsafe substances in orifices can cause serious/unwanted/permanent damage. Always be safe when you practice BDSM.


	2. Chapter 2 (M/F smut)

It took a while before the first real night of rest since Imladris happened.

The travelers had had given it a good thought, but finally they had decided against prolonging their trip by a few more days of stay in Lord Elrond's house after the wedding. Aragorn was urgently expected back in Gondor, because of the next politically very important wedding approaching there alone. And after Arwen's family had done everything to remedy her infertility after her war injury, Aragorn and she could only wait and hope now, anyway.

Now it was up to them to do everything in their power so that the ride would be fast and uneventful as possible. Legolas' hand rested close to his bow all day, ready to target every kind of danger at any given moment.

And at night, Aragorn volunteered to keep watch almost uninterruptedly, which was unsurprising, given the tense mood between Arwen and him. They rather rarely pitched their tents anyway.

Traces of raids and poaching that they regularly discovered, urged them on and made all four of them observantly turn their senses to the surroundings, though for the moment, they fortunately didn't come across any bad crimes. Finding the corpses of seven defiled elves on the way to Imladris had been cruel enough.

There was little talk. The events that the celebration and the reconciliation between two of the biggest elven realms of Middle-earth had only momentarily been able to distract them from, were still too near.

Especially Aragorn's face was showing the burden of the responsibility for the group. He hardly took any time to rest or at least change his resilient leather clothes. During breaks, he crouched by the campfire for hours, staring motionlessly into it, or into nothing when they were on the move. But as soon as he heard an unusual noise, he immediately had Andúril at hand, ready to fight.

Even Legolas' offer to take over at least a few watches from him, Aragorn always declined quite brusquely every time. At the beginning of the journey, Legolas had withdrawn to at least begin to process the war horrors; now it was the soon-to-be King, avoiding contact with the others.

Finally, Legolas left his friend be. He had a suspicion that Aragorn's farewell to Elrond hadn't been half as affectionate as Legolas' own to his father and Lady Galadriel. Those two had settled for a promise from Tarisilya and him to visit their respective homes together as soon as possible, so that more celebrations could be had there as well alone.

What had almost happened between Aragorn and Arwen in the night after the wedding, because of a few cups of wine too much, however … That seemed to have torn deeper wounds in Aragorn's relationship to his foster father than even the one between Legolas and Thranduil had suffered through the millennia. At least the Lord of Imladris had made himself surprisingly scarce at the departure.

Arwen's mood as well was accordingly sour. She rode a few feet ahead of them on principle or stayed close behind the group to glance daggers at her beloved.

When your own wife then started to fall silent too, at some point, even the best mood vanished. Tarisilya had been having bad dreams for days; every time Legolas woke her up, she was shaking in his arms for minutes. Maybe it would help if they could have shared the same warmth and feeling of security as in their wedding night, but in a camp with way too thin walls and tolerably comfortable beds, such a desire rarely exceeded a mild level. After several nights without any rest, they were too exhausted for something like that, too. They wanted to leave the most dangerous lands of this area behind as quickly as possible.

Once arriving in Gondor, Aragorn would send help here immediately to get the last darkness cast out of this once so peaceful environment. He had also ordered some of the Dúnedain to come here, who had made the land safe already before the war, via the man who substituted for him as leader of his people.

Most of them would rather be needed in Arnor in the next few years though, to at least partly set things straight in the lost realm in the north that, just like Gondor, should actually be part of Aragorn's territory, and to restore diplomatic relations.

Before even one of these tasks could be tackled though, Aragorn had to be crowned ... And Legolas and he finally had to take Arwen to a stable home. Her and Tarisilya, whom they couldn't ask anything more of either, not after her sickness at the end of the war.

At some point though, they surrendered to tiredness after all, especially the horses did. Arwen even was too exhausted by now to snarl at her beloved. Aragorn who, unlike them, hadn't been able to doze in the saddle, dismounted first. With how emptied Eregion seemed, the time was perfect to catch up with some sleep, especially with regard to the upcoming ride through Dunland which would be another challenge for their nerves.

Legolas indeed then laid down as soon as the camp was set up, in the shadow of a steep hill, but too many thoughts regarding the future made rest impossible.

Especially when Tarisilya, obviously being of the opinion he was asleep, said good-bye with a kiss and left the tent. If she wanted to talk, she would have woken him up, so he waited. An hour later, she still wasn't back though.

Sighing, Legolas sat up and put on a new tunic and wide breeches from one of his travelling bags. The more robust clothes stayed behind, but on his way out already, he reached for his daggers. The mental connection between Tarisilya and him that Tarisilya's talent for the difficult ability of mindreading and Lady Galadriel's rings had made possible in the past, naturally was much more intensive since their wedding night. He would probably have felt if something was wrong, no matter how instinctive and little reliable that new forged bond still was. But you should never press your luck, not even in an area thought safe.

He left the tent flap open so Aragorn would immediately see what was going on, and followed the narrow, very light prints of Tarisilya's feet to the top of a small hill only a few minutes away.

There she was, sitting in the grass, with her knees pulled close to her chest and her arms crossed on them, and watched him approach with a very sad smile.

Suddenly, Legolas' stomach dropped.

"I didn't mean to bother you, elwen."

"As if you even could." Legolas gestured the objection away and sat down next to Tarisilya, suppressing a last yawn with his elbow. "Are you alright?"

"As can be right now," she answered admonishingly, so Legolas wouldn't forget what they had found not too far from here a few weeks ago. "I'm looking forward to a visit to Lórien once we arranged initial matters in Gondor. Nothing there is as it used to be, but Lady Galadriel and I need mutual support right now. For now, I can be mostly reassured because our friends have been properly buried and Fori's dwarves will hopefully take care of the Dunlendings so they can never harm anyone ever again. But that can't undo anything."

"I meant no disrespect, forgive me." Imitating her position, Legolas let his eyes roam over the surroundings, the unspoiled view of which could almost make one believe, the war had only been a bad dream. "I hope you know that not only Lady Galadriel will stand by you in your grief."

Tarisilya lay her head upon his shoulder, so he could feel her nod. "We've had so many conversations about this in Imladris already, in which we found the necessary distance to not let ourselves be intimidated by a few rare sick desires of Men. My next path is openly before me, Legolas, don't worry. But I need my darkest emotions as well, for without them, I wouldn't be complete. Right now, for example, fear fills my heart. Arwen's growing pain of soon being parted from her family forever is my own, and it will always return, as long as we live here. In this one regard, I envy the elves who perished here recently, as much as I hate myself for it, because they can enter this place now that I'm being drawn to so much. These are dangerous thoughts, elwen. I don't want to fall into that same deep abyss like in the war ever again."

"Your family is waiting for you in Valinor, elwen. As much as it pains me to say this: That is more comfort than Arwen will have." With his hand firmly on her cheek, Legolas got her to look at him. "And they can be with you, at least a little bit." He gently put his other hand gently to her chest. "Right there, where you're now always with me, too. Your mother could do it, and so can you."

"That makes it a little easier, yes. When they sailed, they were alright. This, I do know, at least." She put her hand on his, nuzzled against him with a shudder, suppressing her yearning once more. "Ada and Tegiend were lucky, unlike some others. How can Men be like that, Legolas?"

"It's not just Men. Even us elves did many things in the past that we cannot be proud of. If I judged us based on the worst of our kind, the two of us wouldn't be sitting here right now, moon-queen." His tender tone softened the lecture, clarifying that they were rather referring to his father's tirades of hate against Lórien that had fortunately ended with their wedding.

"What some beings are capable of, fills me with infinite sadness. Sometimes I think I can't breathe from how much it hurts. But I won't fret as long as you're with me. Through our marriage, we have been granted what we yearned for so long. I don't mean to let any sinister occurrence in these realms spoil that anymore. You don't know how happy you're making me, Ilya."

Simple sentences, and yet so much more than an elaborate declaration of love. One look into Legolas' ocean blue eyes was almost always enough to know how deeply feelings ran between them, and how much he was worrying about her. The starlight in the unclouded sky reflected in them though, also emphasized the vague unrest in them. "Will you tell me what else is weighing on you? I can feel your tension in me."

"I wish I knew." Actually, Tarisilya hadn't planned to burden him with this, but she didn't want to keep him guessing. "Since our departure … I can't describe it. Between us, Tegiend is the one with the seeing eye, but whenever I felt something like this in the past, it was always for good reason. I don’t know who this is about. I just know, something terrible could happen."

"We're all nervous." Legolas tenderly stroked her forehead as if he could rid her of her fears like that. "Many weeks of dread lie behind us. I trust your instincts without question when it comes to injuries, but …"

He paused, probably once again recalling the encounter with two Dunlendings in the war that hadn't only left physical scars. From the mental ones, he was still mostly protected by the defensive wall, Tarisilya had built around the dangerous memories after that assault, to keep his mind from the darkness. And she wasn't ready yet to see it break. Not as long as Legolas couldn't afford a collapse, because soon the four of them would possibly run into aggressive, violent renegades of this folk exactly of this kind.

On that night back then, it had very probably been Tarisilya's gift to see the well-being of those dear to her heart that had prevented Legolas' life in these realms ending. An ability, amplified by those very betrothal rings that had signaled danger for their bearers. Maybe they shouldn't have taken them off.

"But?"

"But, this time, hopefully, it's only the past haunting you. I'll take care of you, Ilya. Always."

She tried in vain to let his words wash away everything going through her head since Imladris. She didn't need to say what Legolas knew, of course, just as well: He wouldn't always be able to be there. And it wasn't herself she was most worried about, but him.

The touch of his full, soft lips on hers finally helped suppress the restlessness after all. Especially when his hand came to rest on her neck and then found its way lower, moving in light circles.

With a challenging grin, Tarisilya backed away from her husband. As if he could tease her like that, on a far more comfortable ground than in their tent – heated, even at this late hour, thanks to the brighter half of the year just beginning –, without provoking an according reaction from her ... "You think, the others already miss us?" Almost casually, she ran her fingertips over the sloppily tied cords of his tunic, and the smooth skin showing through underneath.

"Doubtful." Surprisingly quickly given his usual restraint in such public places, Legolas responded, gently shoving her down on her back by her waist, and started to nibble on her ear.

Whereby he accurately hit a very sensitive spot and the conversation was over for good. "You are aware that His Majesty never sleeps deeply?" Tarisilya's protest, far from being serious anyway, turned into a quiet moan when Legolas shifted his focus to the sensitive tip of her ear and a strong hand grabbed her behind. Within seconds, her husband made her yearn for nothing but his touch. This burning desire was completely natural, of course, especially at the beginning of their marriage; yet it blindsided her again.

This time, they both had more experience, too, and would be able to give full rein to their passion. The worry of being caught, they just suppressed at that time. The days of the children robbed elves of their sanity; that had to be it.

Tarisilya nodded as if to confirm that realization, rolled out from under Legolas in a flash and pushed him onto the grass in turn. There were quite a few things that out of impatience, they hadn't got around to do in their first night. Given Legolas' clear arousal that she could feel against her lower body tough, and the heat flowing through her too, she had a feeling, that wouldn't be any different this time …

At least she mustered up the patience to finish opening Legolas' tunic and shrugged out of her light dress' sleeves, so it slipped down to her bare hips. That was all they were ready to risk out here in the open. It sufficed to enable her to enjoy her husband's touch on her reddened, sensitive skin, her exposed curves. Like the gentle twist he used to further tease her tightened nipples with, until Tarisilya started to writhe on top of him, quietly moaning away, chasing the sensation and avoiding it at the same time.

At that, she shifted her weight; promptly, Legolas' erection that was increasingly tenting his breeches nudged a certain spot between her legs that her husband had already driven her crazy with last time. Instinctively, Tarisilya moved against him in this slow wave once more, to get more of that delicious sensation. And again. She whimpered a moan into another deep kiss at how the muscles inside of her clenched, wetness starting to moisten the fabric of her dress. More and more of it, as she got quickly lost in that exciting rhythm that had her husband buck up against her with growing lust as well.

Her fingertips found their way to his chest too, her nails on his sensitive nipples urging him to keep thrusting up against her with these uncontrolled movements. Again and again, she bent down low over him to experience the touch of his tender skin on her lips for the first time, too, to deeply drink in his very own pure taste, with all senses.

With one hand firmly on her behind, her husband kept her pressed close, heaving one deep sigh after the other, entirely adapting to the rhythm Tarisilya was setting. Until suddenly her insides clenched in a way she had never known before, except for a few little satisfying experiments with her own hand in her youth. The world before her closed lids lost color, just for a moment, before bursting into an ocean of it. Even more wetness on her clothes, a hard tremble going through her, a breathless gasp on her lips when she backed away, searching Legolas' gaze from big eyes.

Only now she realized that he had watched her almost the whole time, his expression both full of fire and admiration. "Elwen …"

"You're so unbelievably beautiful, Ilya." Even in his overwhelmed whisper, she could hear the heat still flowing through him, consuming him. His hands, caressing her side, her back only lightly now, were shaking. He didn't push her, he didn't even ask. But he was yearning for her.

With a tender smile, Tarisilya bunched up her skirt and quickly opened his breeches too, then reached for his hand to guide it between her legs so he could prepare her for him, like on their wedding night. "Fly with me, elwen."

Legolas did even more. With his right hand on the inside of her thigh, he urged her a bit higher and now indulged in a wish in turn that she'd read in his eyes more than once when they'd been furtively looking her upper body over.

At first with nothing but feather-light kisses, his lips wandered over her neck, her collar bone that he playfully sucked down on while his fingertips stroked her folds, still sensitive from earlier, through her wetness, until she answered to the touch all by herself. As patiently as the first time, he stretched her open, while his lips and the tip of his tongue explored her breasts, alternating between light kisses and firm sucking. Until he drew one of her nipples between his teeth then, with the other between his strong knuckles again, Tarisilya already thrust down against the fingers slowly entering her, and soon, that wasn't enough for her anymore.

Her hand was on his rock hard cock before she knew it, her lower body moving towards his until she found out how to do it, to be able to take him inside. Then the world around her drowned in comfortable warmth and heaviness once more. In this position, she could feel him deeper inside her, more intensively than last time, and took much time to savor that. Neither of them probably was being quiet anymore now, but Tarisilya just hoped, their friends would understand.

If this was only the beginning of what Legolas and she would be dealing with in the next few decades and beyond, they should better consider not moving into open air accommodations …

Aragorn had last managed to sleep through the night before the war. And since the wedding, his mind couldn't find any proper rest at all anymore, tortured by self-reproaches about having lost control in these hours in Imladris in an unforgivable way. In a way he never had before. Arwen cold-shouldering him was more than justified and in a certain way, even felt good. It had further fed the anger that he'd hurt her with every lonely watch.

That his beloved had been timidly seeking his proximity again for a few hours, didn't change that. They wisely kept up the physical distance especially, since now they both knew how quickly temptation was calling. Arwen just wanted to make sure that he stayed by her side at night. She wasn't sleeping well herself right now, seemingly having dreams almost as bad as in the most dangerous time of her healing, after the Battle at the Black Gate. Aragorn's presence at least blurred the pictures in her head.

And being in her tent gave him back part of the inner calmness he'd lost in the past year. Ignoring the argument for now, they helped each other – with well-known small gestures, like a short caress over Arwen's cheek and soothingly murmured words in Sindarin in his ear – endure the fear that they might, indeed, never have the family they were longing for.

For the same reason, Aragorn didn’t get up when first he heard Tarisilya outside and then Legolas, though Arwen was sleeping calmly for now. The elves knew about the journey’s dangers and wouldn't stray too far from the camp. Eyeing his beloved as she slept and putting a hand on her shoulder when dark memories invaded her dreams again after all was more important than trotting after two elves who could usually take care of themselves alone quite well.

Instead, at some point, he forced himself to lie down next to Arwen, but in spite of sleep deprivation, he didn't even manage to doze. It wasn’t long before he heard his beloved move. When he opened his eyes, he looked right into her face, just inches from his own.

Arwen was smiling for the first time in days. It still looked a little askew. "I better not get used to this. In Gondor, they surely won't let me knock on the door of the King's chambers every time I have a bad dream. Not as long as we’re not married."

"Which is why I'm doing it while I still can. Although our wedding is hopefully not far off." This time, Aragorn somehow made it to hide the shadow in his eyes, thinking about what was waiting for him in Minas Tirith. At some point, the people would ask for an heir, either way.

Straightening up, he opened the tent. "Come on. There’s something to eat on the fire. We need our strength for the next leg of the journey." His gaze darkened as it turned towards Dunland.

When Arwen came to stand next to him, stretching a bit with a little grimace, after cowering on the hard ground for so long, he grinned, albeit with a good trace of melancholy.

He wasn't used to it that yet that the body of his partner, while still looking entirely elvish, reacted to outer influences in many regards more and more like a woman’s. In the past, Arwen who had served in her father's army for many centuries, could have slept on solid rock without sore muscles. Some days, it still hurt that she had given up her immortality only for him.

"You get used to it."

"Probably, but do I _want_ to? In this life, you're not going to make a Dúnadan out of me anymore. It’s my brothers who were always the Rangers in our family, remember? They still think back to their time spent with your people very fondly."

There was a short, restless flicker in Arwen’s deep blue eyes when she searched the camp, seeing all four horses being tied to some trees, but no fellow travelers. "Wait, where's the rest of us?"

Aragorn had to bite back another broad grin. He filled a small bowl with soup that he had prepared earlier and handed it to Arwen. "Don’t worry, they’ll show up again once they’re finished enjoying being lonely together. I guess there's still some enthusiasm left from the wedding night."

" _Some_? Good thing, you grew up among us elves. Anyone else, I would need to inform now that the days of the children can easily take my people centuries. And that's only when the fertility phase ends, not the urge … After their wedding, it took ada and nana three years before until anyone could stand to be near to them for longer than a few hours."

Though that wasn't exactly something, Aragorn had needed to know, he was way too glad that Arwen could at least chuckle a little again, in spite of the repeated reminder that she would soon have to say good-bye to her father forever and never see her mother again, to complain.

Arwen acknowledged his snort with her prettiest look from under her lashes but then went back to staring into the still-too-hot bowl between her fingertips in concentration.

He had an idea what was going on in her mind, what she was about to say. For the foreseeable future, the two of _them_ wouldn't be able to spend sleepless nights having a little bit of fun yet. And that wouldn't have been right, either. No matter how deeply their souls were bound together ever since their first meeting back then, they had never been able to spend much time together at a stretch. And if there was one thing, this ugly scene before departure had definitely proved, it was that they still didn't fully know each other yet, not with all of their strengths and weaknesses. And that it was about high time they did.

"Tell me about the last few years, mîl nín. Not about the war … before that. We had so little time for each other since all of this started."

"That's true. There's lots to catch up on." Aragorn wasn't thrilled to remember once more what definitely had not started only with Frodo and Sam leaving the Shire with the Ring. But that way at least they would spend one evening less with fear of the future.

Still … It didn't feel right. Even less so when at some point, Arwen's arm sneaked around his waist because given the proximity to the flames, his voice started to tremble a little too much. With all the grief and wrath festering in him in the course of the big battles, Aragorn had had almost forgotten how much, long before that, losses had already shaken him that had accumulated quickly during his time in the armies of Gondor and Rohan. Be it the captain who had bled to death under his hands in the Westfold or that one mare who had collapsed dead under his saddle once, after a mad rush to approach Minas Tirith.

But the closeness between Arwen and him should never spring from pure compassion, especially not when he really hadn't covered himself in glory not too long ago. He stopped mid-sentence to reach for her hand, carefully placing the other on her cheek. This thing couldn't stand between them any longer, especially not on a journey that still harbored threats, all without whole armies of hostile soldiers close by. "I'm sorry for what happened in Imladris, Arwen. I was very stupid. Please forgive me. It won't happen again."

The short confusion about the abrupt change of subject gave way to the relieving glow of deep affection in his beloved's eyes that he would never grow tired of. Next time, he would know better than to try and explain himself in detail first thing in an argument, when there was something there simply was no justification for. Only forgiveness. "What took you so long?"

She kissed away the upset wrinkle that her slightly witty question elicited on his forehead, and the last anxiety between them off his lips.

There was nothing that could drive a wedge between them so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ada = father  
> * nana = mother  
> * elwen = heart  
> * mîl nín = my love


	3. Chapter 3

This time Tarisilya accepted, without objections, when Legolas offered to spare her the sight of the freshly dug elven graves, much to Arwen's surprise.

Aragorn and Legolas wanted to see the efforts once at least, from up close, that the Imladris elves had put into embellishing the hasty work their own group had constructed in that one horrible night, with tools borrowed from the Dwarves. Proper new planting and a dunning memorial helped get some closure about not having been able to do more for these bestially murdered Firstborn. Besides, it couldn't hurt to make sure that everything was in order at the gravesite.

Arwen also gave the visit a miss, though. The memory was more than enough for her.

So as the orange shine of dawn slowly grew brighter, her friend and she waited together with the horses at the edge of the gravel pit, for the new day as well as for the return of the others.

For a long time, they hardly stirred where they sat on their blanket; then, completely out of the blue, Tarisilya got up and hurried away, behind the few bushes in the dreary surroundings. The distance to the grave didn't seem to have been enough to rein in the memories that now provoked nausea.

Arwen didn't want to embarrass her friend by following her.

But when instead of coming back, Tarisilya kept cowering there for long minutes, motionless, pale and with a disheartened expression, she finally joined her. "Come on, let's take a little walk. We don't have to stay here."

"That's not it." Slowly sitting back on the ground, Tarisilya rubbed her temples with a sigh, absently played with the thick buns that tamed her almost floor-length hair on journeys. In a possibly hostile territory like this, on a fleeting first look, they hid her descent too, just like the hoods Arwen and Legolas used. "This has been going on for days. Only no one realized because I always found an excuse to get away in the morning. It's the only reason I can't muster up the strength to visit the resting place of my friends from Lórien." Visibly angry with herself she got up again and stared back in hesitation at the slope the others had went down.

"It's pathetic. Lady Galadriel won't be pleased. Under normal circumstance, nothing could stop me, no matter how much pain the sight caused, as I was already too weak to help with the funeral. But I don't want the journey home to be delayed, just because I once more can't manage to stay in the saddle. I've just asked too much of myself in the last weeks. My body isn't working like it should. Slow heartbeat, dulled senses … It's annoying, and my own fault really. Healers are always the worst patients."

"How very true. Especially those who try to hide morning sickness." Arwen eyed, amused, Tarisilya's slender shape from head to toe. "Who will be first to realize what's going on, want to take bets? Aragorn or Legolas? It shouldn't take long now until they start asking question."

Instead of giving a similarly teasing answer, Tarisilya suddenly burst into tears. While she immediately got herself under control again, the short outburst proved that she was, indeed, not feeling well mentally either. "As I said: There's no worse patient than a healer. Thank you. I'd probably have fooled myself for days to come. As if in our enthusiasm, we didn't actively decide to make it possible for this to happen."

With her arms nervously crossed, more or less consciously over her belly, she restlessly wandered back and forth the uneven street, so Arwen didn't even get a chance to congratulate her with a delighted embrace. "You must think me horrible for being so unhappy. After all, there is nothing better than being gifted with a child. That's the center of most marriages between elves and she-elves, isn't it? And thanks to you I can even try not to let the birth scare me anymore. I'm looking forward to be a mother, even though I wasn't expecting it to happen so early."

"Then what's the problem?" Now Arwen just had to grab her arm to get her to stop. "What is worrying you?"

Tarisilya nodded at the pit again. "That I probably can't hide this until we reach Gondor."

"What?" Arwen blinked a few times, dumbfounded. If she'd been in Tarisilya's place, she would have bubbled with joy and immediately told the man she loved. This wasn't something you kept to yourself!

"Of course not. Legolas knows just as well that you two consciously let that happen, and sooner or later he'll notice. What do you think he'll say then? He has a right to know. You can't run away every time you feel sick until we get there, hoping for him to not have any thoughts about it. Even if you could, a mental connection to your own child is being built very quickly, you know."

"I know, I know." Last time Arwen had seen Tarisilya so agitated had been in Imladris when she had indeed and hopefully permanently cured her friend from this irrational fear of dying right after giving birth, just like her mother and her grandmother. "I just don't want … The worry will be unbearable for him. We should better have given this more thought beforehand."

She raised her thin shoulders, dropped them again and startled when Aragorn emerged at the edge of the slope to help Legolas climb the last steep bit, a supportive hand around his lower arm. Usually, that wouldn't have been necessary. Arwen didn't need to see her best friend's face to know that the journey to the past had once more hit him deeply.

"But you didn't, so don't wait too long, Ilya. He'll get angry if he has to find out himself. And unfortunately, Legolas has his father's temper betimes."

Shaking her head, Arwen went to meet the others. She hoped that her words had achieved something. She was in no mood to be surrounded by a disgruntled wood-elf for weeks. She had had to put up with that long enough on the way to Imladris.

Though the grief was still like a choking fog weighing on all of their souls, Legolas didn't seem entirely as absent-minded as when he had first found the dead in this area. Maybe the visit had indeed helped a little. Still, he was visibly impatient to leave this place.

Being more attentive than expected, he unfortunately noticed Tarisilya's expression immediately, just like the smell in the air, hardly noticeable for Men. His first thought was apparently the same that Arwen had harbored. "Time to go. Come with me, elwen." He pulled her into his arms and lightly knocked against Arod's saddle. "He's carried Gimli and me together for months; he can deal with the two of us for a few hours."

"Only for a few?" Tarisilya asked with a weak grin. "I'm not _that_ heavy. At least not yet." The sentence slipped out before she had even thought about it. She could have kicked herself. Maybe he hadn't noticed …

Legolas was a very thorough listener though. Judging by his confused expression, he was wondering if she was joking at best.

No, she couldn't lie to him. That would have been worse than his fear for her. Trembling only very softly, she grabbed his hand and put it on her belly. "We've been blessed with a child, elwen."

There were several things she had expected. Shock. Mild dismay, because of the inconvenient timing. Or that he would lift her on his horse and not let go of her for the rest of the trip. Maybe even an impolite curse. A sharp dig aimed at Aragorn would have been perfectly possible as well, since it was his friend who had persuaded Legolas to make this journey in the first place.

Instead, Legolas buried his face against her shoulder and shed silent tears.

She was crying with him.

Many long minutes had passed since Aragorn and Arwen had got on their horses to discreetly ride ahead a bit, when Tarisilya and Legolas followed suit. Tarisilya felt as if she had never been anywhere safer than here, sitting sideways in front of Arod's saddle, nestled firmly against Legolas, with her eyes closed. His hand caressed her belly again and again, as if he wanted to make sure that it was really true what she had told him. Or to put it across to the new life inside there, how much love its parents were feeling for it already.

"You're not angry?" she finally asked, cautiously, as the others horses came within sight again and Legolas' and her tears started to dry up.

"About what? The two of us being reckless like elflings sometimes, in spite of having seen hundreds of seasons turn? I don't want to waste a single word on that. This miracle shall not feel like they weren't wanted for even a second." Though Legolas' smile seemed slightly forced, that light in his eyes was definitely real.

Tarisilya didn't grow tired of looking at him, his flushed cheeks, his posture, suddenly so relaxed. He left no doubt about how happy he was. He seemed to be looking forward, just like she was, to the day when he could hold his child in his arm. To seeing it grow up, to teach it like their respective fathers had once taught the two of them, maybe even a little better and definitely a little different. And, above all, Tarisilya could see in Legolas' eyes his endless love for her. Gratitude for her gifting him with this, so shortly after she had become his wife already.

That last shadow on his face though, in moments when he felt unobserved, and the watchful look at the surroundings would probably remain until they would safely pass the city walls of Minas Tirith.

"I'm sorry. Let me say it at least once." Her fingertips tenderly traced his strong jawline, his prominent cheekbones. Bemused, privately, she allowed herself to wonder how her baby would look, if it would take after him. They just had to bring it home unharmed, then they would know soon enough. "I know you worry. So do I. We should have thought this through." She rested her hand on his as if that could help telling the child that wouldn't be able to understand any of this yet, that nothing would happen to it.

"Yes. But that can't be undone now. So let us look ahead." Legolas shook his head reassuringly but she couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered what she had told him in Eregion, about the danger that she was sensing.

Of which they both now knew whom it might be about.

The closer they got to the Gap of Rohan, the more the nervousness grew, without any of them being able to tell where it was coming from. Several times, Legolas took switchback paths to elevated locations, to survey the area from above, more worried every time he returned. In addition, Tarisilya, Arwen and he left Aragorn alone a few times, to be able to listen to something, somewhere away from him. Probably they didn't even really know themselves what that was supposed to be.

Aragorn's questions were either not answered at all or only by a clueless shrug.

Only when the gap came into view and Legolas moved to spur Arod to a quicker speed once more, Tarisilya reached her arm out to grab his wrist. "Wait. This hasn't helped any so far."

"I need to see it." He broke away impatiently but paused then, since without a clear destination, it was counterproductive, demanding too much of Arod. "I don't want you anywhere near us if …"

"If what?" Now Aragorn's patience was at an end. So far, it had been easy to blame the exaggerated tension on Tarisilya's condition, but now it dawned on him as well that things in Rohan weren't half as peaceful as when they had last passed it.

They should long have run into other riders. Even if the Dunlendings were hiding from visitors, after the elf massacre that was doubtlessly being broadly talked about: Especially after this catastrophe, many Éoreds should have been securing the area. On the day of the travelers' arrival in Imladris, Lord Elrond had immediately sent a messenger-pigeon to King Éomer to warn him.

"Fear is in the air. There were screams earlier, but I don't know whose. If Fori's dwarves exacted vengeance on these few mentally ill Dunlendings already, and word about that has reached their lands, their relatives might be gathering the others to fight back."

In Legolas' expression, Aragorn searched in vain for the hint of guilt that this possibility sparked in his own heart. These people got what they deserved, that they agreed on; and men and women like them rarely needed a reason for violence.

Still, the thought of a possible continuous feud that would only have made everything worse, unsettled Aragorn deeply. Fortunately, there were no indications for that so far.

"With the war over, there's far too little left of the individual clans for that. They wouldn't even make it through the Gap."

And that was what Aragorn _wanted_ to believe, but many Dunlendings of this generation were unfortunately prone to overestimate themselves and guided by hate and revenge. At that, they could do a lot more damage than anyone would expect, even in a costly battle.

They just had to keep their eyes open, especially Legolas and him. Keep up the willingness to shield their partners anytime if it should come to trouble … Unfortunately, Aragorn had had to learn early in his life how quickly even an excellently trained hand on the sword failed when the attack came from an unforeseen direction.


	4. Chapter 4

"Ilya! Don't!"

Only shortly after that last restless conversation, it was Tarisilya who galloped off without a warning.

Even for elven eyes it was still hard to make out what had caused her to – the bulky shape of a horse, lifelessly lying on the ground, and a man's next to it. It could have been a trick caused by the shimmer of the morning haze, but it was far more likely that there were indeed arrows protruding from both silhouettes.

Since Tarisilya didn't let him stop her, he followed her, cursing, his heels firmly drumming on Arod's sides. As much as he loved the stallion, it just wasn't half as fast as the very tall grey horse that Éomer had provided Tarisilya with as a replacement mount during their last stay in Rohan. So Legolas arrived at the terrible scene only shortly after her.

Even Arwen on her new companion Alagas had caught up with them by then, who had impressive speed to offer as well. More than Brego right now, who was still bothered by his shoulder injury from that trip to Moria not too long ago.

This could have ended damn badly for Tarisilya, riding into the middle of a potential fight without any armed escort.

But at least for now, Legolas didn't need to fret. They were completely alone.

Save for a single snow-white horse that had been hit right in the chest by two arrows. In its fall, it had buried its rider underneath.

Another arrow had pierced the man's left shoulder where the armor must have slipped off. He had chin-length, deeply black hair and striking bright blue eyes that more life was fading from with every passing second. It was Saphras, captain of the personal guard of Rohan's King. The man who'd tried to forbid Tarisilya from entering Éomer's temporary fortress because she had rode a black Mearh-mare.

Tarisilya didn't let any of that initial hostility show. She was kneeling above the badly injured with the same zealousness, she treated every patient with. "Poison." She pointed at the infected darkened flesh around the entrance wound when Legolas and Arwen approached, her usually husky voice almost breaking with haste.

"Orcs. Legolas, I need a hand here. I need to see it while he's out."

"Stay back." Dismounting, he was kneeling down next to her in the same movement, before she could possibly come up with a stupid idea herself. Pushing his hands as far as he could under the perished animal's torso, he lifted it up a few inches, with gritted teeth. He couldn't see much himself but far too much warm, thick red immediately soaking his clothes was apparently clue enough for Tarisilya to instruct him to let go. No, this definitely wouldn't be that easy.

"What happened here, Captain?" After shaking out his protesting arms for a moment, Legolas carefully took the typical high Rohirrim-helmet off of Saphras that was hiding his face.

Unfortunately, they might not be able to achieve much here, it being questionable whether they could get Saphras out from under a thousand pounds. Not with a pregnant elf who accordingly wasn't allowed to lift weights, and one who was gradually losing her Firstborn-powers. And even if they did … They had probably already come too late anyway. Now they could only try and prevent even worse catastrophe.

The soothing voices of several elves had Saphras wake up. With consciousness returned the pain in his leg that was under his horse up to his thigh, and he arduously bit back a loud scream. Ignoring the cup of painkilling brew for the moment that Tarisilya had already prepared and tried to hold to his lips now, he squeezed out a few words. "They've taken … the King."

Éomer! So this was what this was about.

Alarmed, Legolas looked up at Aragorn who was just dismounting Brego. "Looks like they want to get Rohan under control by blackmailing the people. If they succeed and collect enough weapons and material here, they can move right on to Gondor."

That was a desperate riot that they all should have seen coming. There were just far too many hostile warriors existing still. And so far, the efforts that both Aragorn and Éomer had initiated, to at least reach ceasefire agreements with them, had apparently not had any success.

"Sauron's troops have made good use of the time since his fall," Aragorn answered bitterly.

"That gives us a crucial advantage though. They won't kill him immediately; they need him. What about the other riders?"

"All dead." The more awake Saphras got, the less a few herbs poured down his throat with gentle emphasis, could ease his pain. The moan escaping his lips grew louder and louder, his body tensing up ever harder. It was nothing but willpower that he forced himself to keep on talking with. "The King and I … were on our feet until last."

A suspicion how badly he was doing, maybe mobilized Saphras' strength once more and made his voice sound clearer for a moment, because he wanted to perform one last duty. "An empty village close to the Gap. Orcs, two hundred, maybe more. Our Éoreds are too small right now. They took … all fifty of them … The horses and the bodies. Food for their troops … The King … was downed from behind."

Tarisilya squeezed his healthy shoulder for a second. Shivers on her exposed neck revealed her shock about the fate of so many honorable soldiers. "You have fought bravely. Where are they now?"

"There's a whole labyrinth of caves near the Gap. Only the King and his sister know them all. I wanted to stay with him, I swear. But at some point, everything became dark. Stormflame took me out of there." Saphras' eyes turned to the horse, the weak hope in them replaced by deep grief, first tears when he realized his loyal friend had not made it. "They could have easily killed me too."

"Apparently they were too much in a rush to take the King away." Legolas pressed his lips together tightly. Orcs were infamous for taking perverted pleasure in making their victims suffer thoroughly. They had been satisfied with knowing the man to be lethally wounded and alone.

"Go." The same anger narrowing her green brown eyes, Tarisilya turned to him. "I need time to stabilize Saphras anyway, because of the poison alone. Freeing him before that would do more damage than good. And you two will be needing your strength soon. If even more Rohirrim lose their lives, these creatures will win. His Majesty Éomer needs your help."

"I'm not leaving you here, Ilya." Grabbing her arm, Legolas tried to part her from her patient for a moment, to knock some reason into her head.

This didn't entirely come as a surprise since Tarisilya and Éomer had recently become good friends, and his wife had always loved this realm. He couldn't let her risk her life for it though.

But Tarisilya broke away before he could say anything and continued the treatment as if for her, the discussion was over. As carefully as possible, she opened Saphras' armor to be able to properly reach his wound. Fortunately, he was unconscious again now and wouldn't be feeling much. "Give me my bag. I need more supplies." She pointed impatiently at a small bag on her saddle that she was keeping most of her medical utensils in when she was on the go.

"Ilya, don't be stupid …" Legolas followed her request, albeit reluctantly. "What if the orcs come back? You and Arwen need to retreat to the safety of the fortress behind the Gap."

"How safe do you think it will be there once the orcs overrun Rohan? With no one daring to resist then because they're all afraid to lose their King?" Tarisilya shook her head in determination.

"This is as protected as we can be right now. They mean to go to Rohan, not come here. Besides, I'm not leaving a patient alone as long as there's even the slimmest chance to save him. Please, Aragorn …"

For the very first time, she addressed the future King with his name. "The King and the Rohirrim need you both."

"Gondor also needs a living ruler." Arwen seemed unhappy to say the least. "Rohan's soldiers can fend for themselves well enough in bigger numbers, now that most enemies have been wiped out. But two people riding out to hunt these beasts would be madness. And _we_ are perfect bait, just sitting around here. We rather ride to the fortress and alert the troops there. They will send someone here to get Saphras and destroy these monsters. They'll want to do it themselves. After all, it's their comrades who fell, and their King was kidnapped."

"Time is the crucial problem here, Arwen." Aragorn rested a hand on her shoulder for conciliation. It was plain to see how torn he felt. After the last weeks, he didn't want to needlessly expose anyone to threats. Unfortunately, they all knew that Éomer might be lost already. Even if the orcs weren't planning on killing him, if they tortured him that could easily happen. _Purely_ by accident, of course.

"You could at least defend yourselves. Right now, His Majesty can't …"

Arwen broke loose with a noise that sounded almost like a hiss. "No." Clenching her hands into fists around her cloak's hem, she took a deep breath. "My family only just patched me up, and my combat power is still heavily limited. If I now get hurt again, I may destroy our last hope that we can ever have a family, you know that perfectly well. I'm not recklessly facing a mob of orcs just because the two of you are too proud to get help.

"This is least of all about pride." Aragorn restlessly stroked his chin. "The probability of enemies still being in close proximity to you is very low indeed, since they already have what they wanted. _If_ there's some still roaming about, you flee immediately. You two have the best horses, no orc can keep up with that. Knowing that you can defend yourself in case of emergency, reassures me though. Riding to the fortress first would cost us King Éomer and Saphras, almost for sure."

Arwen angrily stared away, unable even to look at Aragorn anymore. "This is so unfair."

"Every decision holds more than one side. With you two, I know at least the dimension of possible danger. Which doesn't make this any easier for me, you should know that."

When Arwen stayed silent, shoulders trembling, he pulled the comparatively simply designed but very effective bow from his luggage and held it out to her. She herself didn't have one on her right now, only having her sword and dagger. "In case Saphras' blood attracts wild animals. Or if … if they _do_ come."

While she did take the weapon and his quiver, her voice was nothing more than a resigned murmur. "If they do, I won't make it to protect us both, Aragorn. I lost too much of my strength for that, and much of it forever, along with my immortality. It's exactly because of such a stupidity of mine that we are in this situation in the first place."

"This time, fortunately there won't be thousands of enemies. Not even one is more likely. I know you're strong enough for this." Aragorn wanted to give her some more comfort, but Arwen already turned away from him.

"Then stop wasting time at least."

"Every minute you stand around here decreases the prospects of rescue, either way." Unlike Arwen, Tarisilya drew their attention back to sober reality, away from what might happen.

She only interrupted her efforts of getting the arrow head out of Saphras' shoulder without doing even more damage, to give Legolas a quick kiss. "If it gets dangerous, I'll ride away, just like His Majesty said. And I'm not suicidal, no matter what you might think. I haven't courted battle since I was an adolescent and I'll keep on avoiding it as long as I possibly can. You should have eaten enough dust earlier to know how fast Tercelborne is."

If that attempt at humor was supposed to be make the situation easier, it failed. Seeing how the pained conflict had Legolas work his jaw made Tarisilya turn away. She was asking more of him than he actually was willing to give, she had to know that. He could understand Arwen well.

That someone would be with his wife who had already made it through the Battle at the Black Gate, and remembering how deserted this region had been in the last days, finally won. And the worry about the foundations of Rohan being shaken, and Gondor's with it, before Aragorn was even crowned. Then they could have forgotten about a peaceful home for their family and the last elves of Middle-earth there.

Moving to get up already, Legolas bent down to Tarisilya once more and laid something down beside her.

Stunned, she touched the handles of the two daggers that had almost always brought him home safely. It was the same amazement he had recently seen on her expression when he had helped her improve her rudimentary skills with a bow a little. Actually, by now, she should know better. That Legolas shared the opinion of elves like Tarisilya's father that her healing abilities were much too precious to risk them by possible killing another being, didn't mean he was blind towards everything threatening especially a she-elf. Sometimes there was only the lesser evil.

"Don't you always say that whoever uses a weapon should be able to handle it?"

"Maybe that rule doesn't apply to pregnant elves." He got up on Arod before she could say anything more, and before he had to deal with the look of guilt on her face that his dig had triggered. It hurt, but the reminder that they were both endangering their child, knowingly, would hopefully make sure that Tarisilya would think of herself and the defenseless being in her belly first, instead of others.

Side by side, Aragorn and Legolas approached the Gap of Rohan, without another word.

_"You don't even want to say good-bye?"_

_There were definitely too few stable doors in Gondor one could depart through unseen. With difficulty Éomer stopped Firefoot who pawed at the ground, unable to wait to start running after he'd been standing around in a foreign horse stall for weeks._

_He tried it with a peaceable expression when he turned around to his sister who was standing behind him with her hands on her hips, eying, stunned, the bags on his saddle, the number of which revealing that this wouldn't be a short fun ride. "I wanted to spare you this."_

_"You mean, you wanted to spare yourself." Éowyn stepped up to him and angrily grabbed Firefoot's reins with her healthy hand, right behind his mouth, as if she could stop Éomer like that. At the same time, she was still so weakened by her injuries from the Battle of the Pelennor Fields that her knees were trembling just from walking the short way here from the Houses of Healing. Lying around so much had taken its toll. Éowyn had become thin, her formerly so splendid hip-length curls were dull. It was about time she got out of here. "What are you doing? Didn't you promise Aragorn …?"_

_"I did. And I did what I could to set the reconstruction work here in motion. The men that I will leave behind can do what comes next. I have to get an overview about what needs to be done in my own country. His Majesty has been informed. He'll follow me soon, by the way, in case you haven't heard yet. He'll ride to Rivendell, together with his beloved. So the coronation will take some more time anyway."_

_Éomer grabbed his sister's chin so she would at least glare daggers at him instead of his horse. "A few things turned out differently for Aragorn than he … than all of us expected. I won't idly sit around here while the men of Rohan are still suffering the consequences of the war. Don't be mad, sis. I cannot rest now, just because we won. My duties have only just begun."_

_"And me?" she asked, her voice thick with tears. "You want to leave me behind here so I won't throw myself right into the next battle? Or are you that much in a hurry to get rid of me?"_

_"Stop talking nonsense." Her defiance made him smile. The woman who had killed the Witch-king of Angmar was still pouting like a four-year-old when she wasn't happy about something._

_"You're taking over for me here. You show the people of Gondor that Rohan will keep on supporting them anytime. I may not like it when you're getting yourself in danger, but you were the one shining brighter in your battle than any of us, and people noticed that. They look up to you, Éowyn. They need your strength to leave the terrors of war behind. Besides, how can you say I'm leaving you alone when you'll have the most wonderful husband by your side to take care of you?"_

_Éowyn blushed immediately. She suddenly seemed to develop great interest in Firefoot's dark grey mane that recently had turned quite shaggy as well. "That's not even …"_

_"From what I heard? Only a matter of time. So tell Faramir to behave or I'll personally come back to kill him with my spear." Éomer bent down and kissed her forehead. "Now let your big brother pass or he has to become angry."_

_"I'm not a little child anymore." Grumbling, she stepped back and watched him leave with her arms crossed. She understood now, she just didn't like it. "Éomer …"_

_"What?" He had his hands full with reining in his stallion who was already smelling the freedom and the scent of his home in the distance. Confused and worried at the same time, he frowned when he saw tears shining in Éowyn's eyes._

_She wasn't someone who cried easily, at least not in public, and certainly not in front of him. Only when the sun came out from behind some clouds, and more and more light illuminated her pale shape, he realized how shrunken she really seemed. With her skinny body, she looked like a ghost in that white dress. Éowyn was afraid._

_"Be careful," she whispered, after hesitating for a moment._

_"It's not me who spent the last weeks in the Houses of Healing." While he just couldn't bite back that remark, he robbed it of every edge with a loving smile. "Your big brother packs quite a punch, you know."_

The unpleasant memory in the shape of a definitely too-detailed dream was superseded by an even more painful reality: a brutal kick in his stomach. Bent double, gasping for air, Éomer came round, completely disorientated for a moment, until he remembered that he had just lost a whole group of capable warriors to orcs. Judging by the repulsive smell, he'd been taken to their accommodations. In spite of his strong dizziness, he forced himself to open his eyes and looked into an orc-face right above him.

His instinctive reaction of wiping that grin off that bastard's scarred face stalled before it even started, because someone took advantage of his daze and yanked his arms back. The rough coldness of metal encased his wrists. Only as he grew more awake, Éomer realized that not only his armor was gone; his upper body was completely bare. A clank, then his arms were ruthlessly pulled back and the end of the chain was fastened far above his head. He could get up just in time to prevent his shoulders from being dislocated. The jerky movements didn't exactly improve his blurred sight, so he couldn't clearly make out where he was. All he saw was countless stocky, disfigured shapes all around him and shadows of rock. A cave.

The next wave of searing pain interrupted his survey, deviously kicking the back of his knee so he lost what little unsteady foothold he had and fell forward, stopped painfully by the handcuffs. Any attempt to free himself from the massive rings was pointless, so he tried standing up again instead, with gritted teeth, so it wouldn't be his whole weight hanging from his arms anymore. The result was another kick to the back of his knee, on the other side this time, so straightening up was out of the question for now.

Which didn't mean he would cower in any way, though. With his jaw thrust forward, he raised his head to look the bystanders in the eye, one after the other. After all, he planned to get back at all of them as soon as reinforcements would arrive. With interest.

As it turned out, his torturer wasn't one of those pitiful creatures from Mordor's halls but a man, wrapped in thick fur and stained leather, sporting a wild long beard that more intelligent life probably had evolved in already than the bastard had in his head. What a _surprise_ , a Dunlending. One of the many who enjoyed taking their rage out on the Rohirrim whom their folk hated so much, no less. "I did start to wonder how long one of your folk needs to get back on their feet after such a laughable defeat. If all of your people show so little strength, overrunning your country will be a walk in the park."

"If you always attack so cowardly from behind, you might be able to enjoy your triumph for a few minutes before the soldiers of Rohan and Gondor will end your misguided existence." Admittedly, not a horribly clever provocation, and the ensuing punch to his jaw wasn't exactly a surprise; but it was immense fun to rid the guy of his arrogance.

That help from Gondor might approach before his group of war relicts had even really struck, fazed the man visibly more than he wanted to admit. The insecurity didn't last for long though.

"We'll deal with your people just as easily as with you. And Gondor …" He stepped so closely to Éomer that he could smell the rotten stench of his breath, and yanked Éomer's head back as if he wanted to cut his throat next. "Gondor doesn't even know yet what happened here. Before their so-called King comes crawling to beg for your life at some point, you'll be long dead."

The grip of his hand loosened for a moment, only to clench down even harder then and rip out two strands of Éomer's hair, on his temple and the back of his head. A good deal of blood clung to them, too.

The Dunlending handed a visibly disgusted orc the trophy. "For Edoras and the Gap fortress. Let our friends know, we mean business."

"Boring," one of the orcs growled. "Why not a few fingers? A whole hand? Or the eyes?"

Approving roars from the others standing around them. "Cut the arrogant man's eyes out!"

Another orc, with sickly white skin who had had half of his face eaten away himself, approached the Dunlending with clenched fists. He obviously thought a man of too soft to supervise the orcs stationed in this cave, who in daylight could only go outside weakened and in pain. "Or should that rather be done by someone who has the guts?"

"My hasty friend …" The Dunlending revealed a row of crooked black teeth. "I've already beaten the guts out of she-elves when you were still fighting over the last corpses in the ruins of Mordor. And I'm not as stupid as the people of my clan; no one hunts _me_ down for that. Because my family owns something from the war that your kind is panting for. It was your dear friends, the Uruk-hai, who therefore asked me to show you how to properly cut someone down to size. So you better keep that big mouth of yours shut or you'll be the main course soon."

He looked back to Éomer, satisfied about his distraught expression. Mentioning the Firstborn-massacre near Rohan hadn't failed to leave an impression. "I want his Majesty in a usable condition when I'll take time for him tonight. Time to see if you can have as much fun with a Rohirrim as with a few scrawny she-elves and elven warriors. Besides, we don't want to spare the good man the sight once we … cleaned up a bit in his Kingdom, do we?"

Offended, the orc sauntered back to his friends. "Can we play with him at least?"

Shrugging, the man headed for the exit. "Don't kill him."

Being confronted with dozens of drooling creatures, all of whom seemed to have a whip, a club or a dagger in their paws, could have even adamant warriors startle back. Éomer forced himself to raise his head even higher and face what was coming with his eyes open. Recalling Éowyn's face helped, just like the one of that Dunlending. Though Éomer heavily doubted that these people were even half as powerful as they thought, they still posed a threat. To protect his people from them alone, and to make up for his failure in the last battle, he had to survive this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my walking fandom dictionary ArvenaPeredhel for figuring out how many elves + one beefy boi it takes to lift a horse!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's another reference to the Dunland Massacre (series part #4) in this chapter. Just as a quick reminder: On their way to Imladris, Aragorn and his group had found the seven mutilated bodies of elves from Lórien. Aragorn rode to Moria then to get tools to bury them from the dwarves there. He also asked the dwarves to hunt down the Dunlendings responsible for the murders and kill them.

For a tracker like Aragorn and a hunter like Legolas, it was easy enough following the traces of the orcs who not only were clumsy by nature but had also left blood on their way to the caves. The Rohirrim seemed to have caused them quite a few losses before they had been defeated.

Sadly, not enough.

"People are running already." Legolas stopped Arod on the narrow switchback path that Aragorn and him were following and leaned forward in the saddle to be better able to make out what his eyes had spotted on the flat dune landscape at the foot of the mountain.

Indeed, whole groups of Rohirrim were leaving the villages they had only just moved back into, headed for Edoras, in a haste. Life at the Gap wasn't easy, it had never been. Fewer and fewer people were ready to live with this danger. This incident would seriously set back Éomer's efforts to strengthen people's trust in peace – if he would even still be able to make any after this day.

"How many long years will pass before even the last of Sauron's followers understand that conflict is the wrong solution?" Shaking his head, Legolas spurred Arod on to catch up with Aragorn.

"Many of them have been created by conflict in the first place, as your folk should actually know best. And the mannish folks among them are still fighting wars that initially, Gondor and Rohan weren't innocent in. Most of these people simply don't know anything else." Aragorn didn't bother with philosophic questions; he kept on searching the ground for traces that would reveal more than that the orcs had doubled their speed.

It agitated him a lot, knowing the Rohan's King to be in the hands of such monsters. What alarmed him even more though was a few footprints between all the others that were notably bigger, deep in the loose earth. There were beings he didn't want to face outnumbered hand to hand anymore. "Ilya was right, every second counts."

The closer the enemies had got to their hideout, the more careful they had become. The Companions were almost thrown off the track. The monsters only gave themselves away again and again by little details like black blood stains on the cliff rising on the left, or dust raised when one of the injured had lost balance on the uneven, slippery ground. And at some point, the orc-stench made following visible traces unnecessary.

So it didn't take them long anymore to find Firefoot, at the entrance of a cave much smaller than the ones they had passed so far. The stallion was injured, but not badly, the wound at its side already stopped bleeding and apparently hadn't been caused by a poisoned blade. When the Companions approached, it neighed; fortunately just quietly, in exhaustion.

Dismounting next to him, Legolas held his nose for a moment, whispering something in Sindarin to him so he would keep quiet. "That you managed to escape gives me hope for your owner. Stay here."

Firefoot had shown impressive intelligence. Thanks to a broad ledge by the entrance, in spite of the close proximity to the cave he couldn't be seen from there.

A good spot for Legolas and Aragorn to leave their horses as well. And for Legolas to kneel down for a moment, to block out surrounding noise, even far-off birdcalls and the howling of the wind, to concentrate on the rest. "Almost everyone whose tracks we've seen is in there. Orcs waiting for the evening to get active again."

"And a few bigger editions of orcs as Master Elf surely must have noticed." Thanks to the new crisis, Aragorn's patience was at an all-time low, and his politeness tended to follow his patience flying out of the window, especially when he was worried about someone he loved.

"We can try sugarcoat the situation for Ilya and Arwen as much as we want: _I_ know when we are in trouble. We can't just storm this place. They'll have Éomer's heart on a blade before we get to him."

"If the caves are as ramified as Saphras says, there has to be a second door." Legolas hesitated, unhappy with the thought of leaving Aragorn alone with so many enemies. "Can you distract them?"

"Are you trying to provoke me?" Aragorn slipped Andúril from its scabbard. "You should hurry, otherwise I won't leave any of them alive for you. Wouldn't it be a shame if you had to tell Gimli _that_ upon our return?"

He paused with his back against the rocks to collect himself, holding the blade, brightly beaming in the sun, in front of his face. With his eyes closed, he murmured a short elvish warrior's blessing that his combat teacher Glorfindel had taught him at the beginning of his training back then. Upon arrival at the last syllable, he had banished every worry about his beloved, the prisoner and his own future, had hidden them in the rearmost corner of his soul, and sharpened his senses extremely to not get distracted in a highly dangerous situation.

With his eyes wide open, he yelled from the top of his lungs: " _For Gondor_!"

The guard at the entrance lost his head before he understood he’d been inattentive.

The orcs who had heard the battle cry and came running with furious screeches, took their time when they spotted only a single man. Their scornful laughter quickly died away though when two of them fell and Aragorn lowered his sword to his side in challenge, opening his guard entirely in a gesture of natural certainty of victory.

"You have a friend of mine captured. I don't suppose you want to negotiate, do you?"

The answer was ear-splitting roars. From the dark of the cave, more and more enemies joined them. A few very tall, brawny silhouettes confirmed Aragorn’s find. So unfortunately, they hadn’t managed to destroy all Uruk-hai in the course of the Battle of Helm's Deep after all.

While he casually blocked the strike of a notchy blade from one of the orcs jumping forward, Aragorn thoroughly followed the increasing movement around him from the corner of his eyes. "Thought so."

Another scream, this time from one of the Uruk-hai. " _Tear this annoying bug to pieces_!"

Aragorn startled. Once too often, he had had to grieve for close friends after deafening orders like this, more than one of them being twice the warrior he was. He had to do his utmost to neutralize as many orcs as he could before their big brothers interfered with the battle, or he might possibly be screwed.

Stopping all of the blunt blades striking at Andúril at once was almost impossible though. Soon enough, Aragorn additionally drew the dagger that he had got in Lórien back then. Always in motion, pinwheeling nonstop, he fought his way through the masses of his enemies. He stabbed down again and again, without losing his rhythm, cutting off limbs and always going straight for weaknesses in the orc armor. He cut more than one throat as well, blinking a torrent of orc blood from his eyes, and dodged the next enemy's attack at the very same second.

It was starting to look as if he would make good on his – not even seriously meant – threat towards Legolas. If his friend hurried, they would be able to face the Uruk-hai together. Then not even these particularly strong enemies wouldn't be a problem …

The buzz of arrows evaporated that hope and distracted Aragorn for a split second.

The Uruk-hai had reached for their bows and nocked their arrows as if they had all the time in the world before almost all of them shot at him at once.

Suddenly, Aragorn had to fight for pure survival. Not carrying a shield, he was completely vulnerable and now had to simultaneously fend off foes and dodge. While he made it to keep on striking down enemies, he now had to take more risks. Many of the attacks he could only cushion now, so he was soon bleeding from many small wounds on his arms and legs.

One enemy's sword raised high above his head, right behind him, he could only just beat aside at the last second; at that, he already heard the characteristic whistle of an arrow way too close to him again. Mid-parry, it was impossible to react in time. His left upper arm seemed to catch fire when the metal tip deeply pierced his flesh, drawing a suppressed scream from him. His arm immediately refused to function, the dagger fell to the ground with a clank. Every muscle from his shoulder down the length of his arm seemed numbed. Angrily, Aragorn brought his sword up again and decapitated another orc.

Just in time – more arrows were raining down on him already. With some effort he caught his victim’s lifeless body and used it as a shield.

Legolas should really rather get going now if he didn't mean to bring only one King back to Rohan alive ...

In spite of the noises close by and a good sense of mountains that millennia in a cave palace had equipped him with, it wasn't easy for Legolas, trying to find his way in an entirely foreign area. It _was_ a labyrinth. He didn't really think orcs intelligent enough to retreat here. The Uruk-hai probably held the leadership of the group. Part of the halls were so low-ceilinged that one had to crawl, others led to such deep abysses that even Legolas' low weight resonated loudly in the walls at the landings, and he had to pause for a moment until the pain in his joints subsided.

After the last jump of that kind, he at least stood right in the wedge-shaped cave that was his destination. The chaos saved him from being seen right away. From a dark alcove, he assessed the room, the limited size of which didn't make it exactly easy for Aragorn to advance.

Legolas judged that his friend was making good progress anyway. Every advantage of invisibility would be lost if he went to help him now or shot at the enemies.

So, with a heavy heart, he crept to a wood stake wedged into the rock instead, where he had spotted a thick chain in the weak torch light. As expected, he found Éomer there, unconscious. While still looking for a way to open the shackles as quickly as possible, he saw an orc lying on the ground close by at whose belt a large key was flashing. Pure chance, certainly, he strictly forbade himself too high hopes …

No, the thing actually did fit. He opened the cuffs in relief and carefully lay the young King down on the ground to get a first impression of his injuries.

Except for several deep cuts on his chest and back and one or two more that had colored his long sand blond curls in an unhealthy shade of rust-red, there wasn't much to see at first; judging by the still halfway-intact state of his clothes, no one had assaulted Éomer either – something you could never rule out when creatures of Mordor were involved. But that might not be saying much.

Looking over to Aragorn worriedly again and again, Legolas carefully placed one hand on Éomer's blood-smeared forehead.

As if the warmth of his skin had reached out to the unconscious man even in this inhospitable cold place, his eyelids began to flutter, his body immediately curling up.

"Be still!" In a slightly drastic measure, Legolas covered the man's mouth with his hand so he wouldn't draw the orcs' attention to them. "Can you get up, Your Majesty? Walk? How bad is it?"

"Could be even worse." Somehow Éomer suppressed a loud moan and nodded down to his right shoulder. The gratitude about Legolas freeing him in his dark eyes was accompanied by elementary fear of the consequences of this day. "One of them … hit too hard. Orcs lose interest when their victim … isn't awake anymore."

Frowning, Legolas touched said spot and startled back when he realized, there was no solid matter there at all anymore. That shoulder was a ruin of complicatedly fractures. It was a miracle, Éomer wasn't in a delirium of pain. "We'll get you out of here." He wrapped his cloak around the young man's chilled body, then reached back to give him one of his daggers, in case of emergency, before he remembered that he had already left both of those with Tarisilya.

Almost violently, he pushed the newly blooming worry about his wife aside. If he didn't want Tarisilya to be in danger, he had to give Aragorn a hand.

"Behind you." Éomer pointed at a small pile on the ground that in his hurry, Legolas hadn't paid much attention to. Underneath the armor that Legolas put on Éomer loosely to protect him from the tumult of the battle, lay his sword Gúthwinë. With the weapon in his healthy hand, the man immediately looked more confident.

That was all Legolas could do here for the moment. He went to stand in a badly accessible corner and drew his bow.

Within seconds he had ridded Aragorn of the enemies harassing him the most. Instead, the rest of them charged him now. Without a close combat weapon, he had trouble defending himself against all of them at once, in spite of his very own art of perfect shooting, learned through long centuries. More than once, another ugly mug came way too close to him, or a drawn spear or a club, before an arrow head pierced the enemy's body and they tumbled back.

There were only a few opponents left but when Legolas just turned his head back to Éomer for one quick check, he was almost skewered by a spear. He dodged it, barely, so the edge just lightly grazed the side of his neck, leaving a bloody nick before it bounced off the rock. Legolas picked the weapon up and threw it back at the enemy. The tip split the creature's forehead open and ended the orc.

That apparently had been the last one. Breathing a sigh of relief, Legolas turned to Aragorn and impatiently wiped the annoying, throbbing spot on his neck with his sleeve. "Are you alright, mellon?"

"And I thought, elves were gifted with such a sharp eyesight." Aragorn grabbed the shaft of an arrow in his arm and yanked it out. Thanks to his years of routine, he could clench his teeth so hard that his scream turned only into a loud grumble. Rolling his eyes, he threw the bloody souvenir from the fight at Legolas. "Some of them aim better than one thinks."

Legolas grinned understandingly and tied up the small wound, using a cloth soaked in healing herb paste, the way he had learned from Aragorn in the course of the war, at least the basics of it. Orc poison was never to be taken lightly.

"Come on, let's get out of here. I've wasted too much time in my life in caves already."

They took a moment to inspect every corner of the hideout and examine the corpses together. With a silent grimace, Aragorn kept on moving his left arm that at least had started to respond again, before he suddenly stopped stock-still.

"Where are the Uruk-hai? Did you shoot any?" A clear hint of annoyance colored his voice when Legolas shook his head restlessly. The frightening scenario trying to take shape in his mind that might take place soon, just because they had let a few of those monsters escape, immediately wanted to paralyze him far more effectively than any poison. Actually, he felt like riding back immediately.

Agitatedly, Aragorn wiped Andúril clean on a dead orc's cloak. Losing their heads wouldn't help anyone now. Though it filled him with big relief, spotting the trembling silhouette of Éomer from the corner of his eyes, who had somehow made it to get up and was just staggering towards the cave exit: The King had to be cared for, at least rudimentarily. Or they hadn't need bothered to take the risk of leaving Tarisilya and Arwen alone. But time was still of the essence if the Uruk-hai had possibly fled in the wrong direction, though by horse, they would be faster than these bastards.

"Stay where you are. Rohan's King once more bites off more than he can chew." Aragorn approached his friend with an honest smile and helped him sit down again, looking at his shoulder immediately. Worry had his forehead in deep wrinkles. Under these circumstances, he couldn't do more than applying a sling to stabilize this ruin so there wouldn't be even more displaced fractures than there already were and no splinters would float. He could clean the cuts from blades and whips, stop the worst bleedings and rub anti-inflammatory herbs on them. Other than that, he had to trust that Éomer's strength was still as legendary as in their common fights in the war.

Aragorn took a multiply folded cloth from his belt and held it out to the man. "You better bite down on that."

"The pain can hardly get worse than it already is." Éomer waved him off. His narrow forehead was covered in large drops of sweat. He was obviously feeling a lot worse than he wanted to admit.

Aragorn had no time to break a man's pride, just so he could be good to his friend. The thought of what might happen if they stayed here for too long, had his hands act automatically. "As you wish. I did offer." With a hard blow to the shoulder he set the worst of Éomer's fractures. At the man's loud yell, he closed his eyes in full sympathy but didn't give a comment. They both knew it had been necessary.

"Lean back so I can take care of the rest." Aragorn quickly ran outside to Brego and got his bag of healing herbs. He chopped up a few leaves and cut part of his cloak into stripes to support the arm, using the rest to bandage the partly alarmingly deep wounds.

Without pausing his fingers, he addressed Legolas. "Get the horses here. We need to get Éomer in the saddle somehow."

"I'll take His Majesty to the fortress. You ride back to the Gap and get the others." Proposing that was visibly hard for Legolas but he knew of course that Aragorn had always been a better close combat fighter than him. Acting on a fear when it wasn't even clear if it was justified, would have been foolish.

Even if Aragorn would run into the enemies: In the war, both of them had fought far more enemies at once on their own.

Legolas tried to pull Éomer up by his healthy arm, but the man didn't even realize. He looked back and forth between Legolas to Aragorn, completely dumbfounded. "You left them alone? In the middle of a battlefield?"

"Far from the battlefield," Legolas replied, but his hesitative tone revealed that Éomer's bewilderment quickly ruined his forced calmness. It _had_ been irresponsible, there was no denying that. "Arwen has been fighting in battles for centuries, in more than the two of you combined."

Éomer ignored his hand as if to prove something to him and himself. Bracing himself at the wall, he somehow got to his feet. "I will not cower in my home while these bastards kill two innocents next on their escape route to Dunland. Just don't." He quashed all of Aragorn's and Legolas' protest in the early stages already, sheathed his sword and marched out of the cave, still staggering slightly.

Then he suddenly stopped. "This one's still alive."

It was clear to see that Legolas had lectures, maybe even inappropriate orders to a King on his lips already. But he swallowed all of them at Éomer's hate-filled glance down at someone that Aragorn hadn't even recognized as a man in the heat of the moment earlier … the first Dunlending they met in person since the war. Coming to stand next to the King, Legolas stared at the man expressionlessly whose chest sported a deep sword wound.

With every breath, he brought up blood. On his bared side, the white of broken ribs stabbed into a damaged lung. The guy was as good as dead if he didn't get help.

"You should think about taking him to one of your realms for open trial," Éomer remarked. "This man boasts about being co-responsible for the elf massacre in Dunland."

With a quiet hiss, Aragorn closed his eyes and cursed. It wasn't hard to guess what would happen next.

So it was as he had feared after all: One of the people that Aragorn had so badly wanted to be wiped out not too long ago, had been responsible for that Gap Assassination as well. And that meant, so were the dwarves and so was he, in some way. How long that conflict would continue, only the Valar knew. Maybe this man would survive for few more hours if they left him lying here, and be found by others of his folk. Or maybe not. In spite of all concerns, Aragorn didn't feel like treating the guy at all.

The most just solution was leaving the fate of such criminals in the hands of higher powers; actually, Legolas and he had always been quite agreed on that. Usually, a being like this wouldn't even be worth drawing a weapon to Legolas. Helm's Deep had changed much though, as Aragorn knew only too well, and then making that cruel corpse-discovery … Aragorn had been fearing such a situation for a while now.

Crimes were still happening and they always would, but the war was over, just like the fighting situation earlier. Just like Éomer, in a moment like this, Aragorn had to exercise rationality, not act on blind hate, no matter how hard it was for him. It had been a much too emotional, affect-based decision, hiring the dwarves to kill the Dunlendings, as he knew now. One that after a few weeks of distance, he probably wouldn't have made, not that way. Allowing a chain of violence to continue on and on could never be the right choice, though he sometimes forgot that.

He was anything but certain though, that he could make Legolas see that the same way, especially in a matter of just a few seconds.

"There are no trials for people like that." After a few stunned seconds of silence, Legolas raised his bow, aiming at the forehead of the weakened man who didn't even really seem to be noticing any of them. Then he paused.

Not because there was any kind of doubt in him that this man deserved to die but because such even an execution would have been much too merciful for such low-life. Just like almost every night in the last few weeks, the pictures of this one morning appeared in his mind, when he had gone on a short hunt to shoot a deer for his company, and suddenly there had been the smell of decay in the air. Seven mutilated, headless bodies, littered in wounds, arrows in their flesh that was covered in bruises, burns and cuts. Blood from where the Dunlendings had assaulted them … The memory alone was enough to immediately cause nausea again.

The elves hadn't been the ones starting this. His folk hadn't had anything to do with any kind of conflict among Secondborn, like the one in Rohan, for a long time. These seven had been entirely innocent.

"Legolas!" Aragorn's sharp voice stayed his finger before it could let go of the arrow after all.

His friend regarded the Dunlending with piercing coldness in his eyes as well. "He's not worth it. We'll probably be needing all of your arrows soon," he continued in Westron and turned away. "Besides, the carcasses and his blood draw wild animals. It won't be long before maybe even a few of his beloved wargs will be here. Leave it to them to end his life. If he's lucky, the crows will be here first to feast on his eyes. Then at least he won't have to see the other creatures when it happens."

That was all it took. Especially since they couldn't waste any time with discussions about this guy anyway.

The undimmed sunlight could bring just as little relief from the darkness of the caves as getting away from the stench of all the corpses. The fear of riding to another tragedy was too big – and of possibly being confronted with even more dead there.

Aragorn's hasty treatment had helped Firefoot. When the horse spotted its owner in the distance, it made it to get to its feet. It quickly shook itself and trotted to Éomer with a neigh.

"Good boy." Éomer petted the stallion's neck appreciatively before he let Legolas help him mount and got his stallion going, careful to not touch the wound at its side with his leg.

"I know you're in pain, but today, neither of us can rest yet. Two enchanting elves in need are waiting for us. Run!"

Firefoot seemed to understand. He reared up for a moment, as if he wanted to give himself strength and then ran ahead, so Arod and Brego had trouble keeping up once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * mellon = friend


	6. Chapter 6

"Stay where you are, soldier." Realizing that her patient was waking up, Tarisilya immediately interrupted her efforts to prepare his leg for what was soon to come. She sat down beside him, with her hand on his feverishly hot forehead, the other on his tightly bandaged shoulder to keep him from moving and possibly ripping the stitches there. "Are you feeling any better?"

"I'm not dead yet. That's progress, isn't it?" he croaked unintelligibly. "Whatever you did, it's working."

"Exotic herbs that I usually don't like to use. They help to numb the pain. And your senses." Tarisilya pressed a light kiss to the man's forehead so he would close his eyes and the second mixture that, with Arwen's help, she had just poured down his throat, would continue its work in vivid illusions.

It helped for a few minutes, but when she retightened the makeshift tourniquet around his thigh – leather from the bridle of Saphras' horse –, after a few moments of blood flow that she had had to allow the tissue, even the most imaginative hallucinations couldn't fog the pain anymore.

"I'll lose it, won't I?"

"I want you to live. For that, I will do all that is in my power. All that is necessary." Tarisilya placed her arm in a way so that her traveling gown's widely flared sleeve blocked the view. Using her sharpest knife, she had rid the leg of all clothes wherever she could reach, to prevent infections and splinters from spreading out. That wasn't a pretty sight.

If help from Rohan or the others wouldn't come back soon, so they could lift the animal's carcass which due to the strong bleedings earlier, Tarisilya hadn't been able to risk yet, they would have to take other measures to get Saphras away from here. The thought had Tarisilya shudder in spite of the pleasant temperatures. The leg had to be taken off either way; that she knew since Legolas had given her a short look at it already. But that should happen in a sterile room, with a better selection of medical knives.

Since she needed her focus to protect Saphras' body from the effects of the orc poison that would last some time still, in spite of the arrow removal, she threw Arwen a pleading glance. She couldn't do this alone.

No matter how much her friend had already had to go through in the last few weeks, today she would be facing another trial. Regardless of how much Tarisilya wanted to spare her this thing.

Arwen was sitting a little apart from the rest, under some trees. She didn't want to see firsthand all the things the injured had to go through. She had been around so many badly wounded and dying beings that it was enough for several lives. She really didn't need any more nightmare fodder.

At Tarisilya's silent prompt though, she got up after all and slowly approached her.

Only now, Saphras really seemed to realize that she was there. A delighted smile curled on his lips when she knelt down next to him. "Wait, _am_ I dead already?"

"If you were, we wouldn't have to torture you with herbs anymore, would we? I know how disgusting this brew tastes, believe me." Arwen forced a smile on her lips, trying hard to not let it show how many doubts her own words caused in her mind. "You cannot give up, you hear me? You cannot go …"

"If I have to, I can do it without fear now. I didn't think I would be fortunate enough to ever see your beautiful face again, Lady Arwen. The Valar must have sent you to stand by me." Saphras reached out a trembling hand for Arwen and pulled hers close to breathe a kiss upon it. "Maybe you're one of them. Yes, that has to be it. Who else could be so lovely? Stay with me … I want to see your picture in my head when it will be over …" His voice faded more with every syllable as the unconsciousness took hold of him again.

"Of course I'm staying. I'm here for you." Arwen caressed his forehead so he would hopefully still be able to feel what she meant, even if he didn't understand her anymore. Tears tried to form in her eyes that she angrily blinked away.

Unfair as it might appear, she still blamed Aragorn and Legolas for this. If one of them at least would have ridden to the fortress, help for Saphras would long have arrived. If the man died, it would always be in the back of Arwen's mind that they hadn't done all that was humanly possible for him, and that he had suffered immeasurable torture only to lose his battle in the end anyway.

Arwen forced herself to take her eyes of Saphras' face that the fever had turned into a twitching grimace. "Please hurry, Ilya. I don't know how long I can stand this without losing my mind."

She expected an answer or at least a quick gesture, but nothing happened. "What is it?"

Tarisilya was searching the surroundings, with her eyes half-closed and her head leaned back as if she was scenting something, like an animal. Letting the treatment be for the time being, she didn't move a single muscle, listening only to what her senses reported to her. "Nothing," she said slowly. "It was probably just another deer …"

But then she jumped up unexpectedly, with wide eyes, almost in the same moment as Arwen, too, heard noise in the distance that made her blood freeze like the Bruinen in winter. "They're coming. That was their battle cry …" With a jerk, she turned her head to look at the parts of the Gap covered from sight by ledges where any moment the disfigured mugs of the creatures might show up that had cost so many men – and elves – in the war their lives.

Along with the screams came clopping hooves which instantly called the plans made beforehand in question. After all, the two of them had spent the last hours witnessing how fast even a trained, horse-mounted warrior could be defeated. Especially when the pursuers were a lot faster than expected. That could frighten even an otherwise quite brave she-elf who, as a healer – always protected by soldiers though –, had been close to battles more than once already. An elf who knew exactly that her fighting abilities consisted of at least not missing a static target every time.

"Get on your horse, _now_!" Arwen wasn't ready just yet to give up on the still-safest plan of getting at least one of them to safety. "Get out of here!"

Since her friend didn't react right away, but seemed frozen, in spite of all promises and her growing fear visibly reluctant to leave her entirely helpless patient alone, Arwen ran to the horses and tore the reins of Tarisilya's stallion off the branch that Tarisilya had tied him to, to control his stormy temper. She wanted to get the bolting animal to her friend but then she heard the sharp crack of undergrowth, much too close. Useless. There just was no time left. Without even thinking about it, Arwen firmly slapped the horse's rump so it dashed off.

Then she hurried back to her friend who just watched Tercelborne leave, even more disturbed now, and roughly dragged her towards the lowest foothill close by where a few tiny caves were located. "If they had seen your horse, they'd know I'm not alone. Hide!"

"But … You two …"

Rudely, Arwen pushed her towards one of the narrow entrances. " _Go_ , save yourself!"

Finally her friend listened, though only under protest.

Arwen herself took just another moment to cover Saphras' body with her cloak.

The enemies were supposed to think that he had succumbed to his injuries and leave him alone. That way he would be uninteresting to them, if they didn't happen to be completely starved.

That the man was still blacked out and breathing weakly only, might save him.

Hectically Arwen got into Alagas' saddle, turned him around and galloped off to lure the enemies away.

She only made it a few feet, had hardly passed the rocks where she had left Tarisilya, when the dreaded Uruk-hai – they were seven in number – already broke out from the woods skirting the clearing on the other side, and surrounded her.

Judging by the armor hastily slipped on and the missing white war paint, the Uruk-hai had departed hastily. They apparently couldn't have thought of anything better than using stolen Rohan horses. On the one hand, that was a relief – at least no wargs posing an additional threat. But it put Arwen in exactly the situation she had wanted to avoid.

The group leader was the tallest enemy, with the strongest built and countless greyish battle scars all over his body. Arwen apparently caught his interest immediately, given how thoroughly his eyes were roaming her body. "Sweet! Someone sent us evening entertainment, boys, dinner afterwards included."

He spurred his visibly reluctant horse closer and closer to hers and reached out a greedy claw to Arwen's arm, a dirty grin on his face.

"Go ahead and try. You will die before your horse can throw you off."

With her hand on her sword's handle, Arwen tried to keep an eye on everything at once. If one had to expect attacks from any side, it was hard to keep calm. Thanks to the weakness still in her body so shortly after her recovery and the fact that she could no longer rely on enhanced strength and speed, it was anything but certain that she could best so many opponents. She would be able to kill one or two without breaking a sweat, but the rest would undoubtedly attack her before she could even consider whom to turn to next.

The leader gave an amused laugh. "Oh, the elven bird is defiant." The grin turned into open-mouthed drooling. "It will be my pleasure to tear out your sharp tongue and eat it right in front of you before we cut you open." Again, his huge hand caught at her arm, but this time he didn't even come close to her.

Arwen brought up her sword and cut off the creature's forearm with a well-aimed strike. She rotated the blade above her head for more momentum and severed the enemy's head from his body with another quick move, while he was still staring at the stump, dumbfounded.

Two spouts of blue-black blood soaked Arwen's travel tunics. The head fell to the ground with a sickening noise and rolled a few feet away before the body crashed from the saddle.

Arwen gripped her weapon tighter and mentally prepared as well as possible for the storm that might break loose any second. She had to stall as long as she could so Legolas and Aragorn would at least be able to save Tarisilya if Arwen didn't make it.

But before anyone could react at all, the second largest Uruk wheezed, choked, and grabbed his side that several inches of a dagger blade emerged from. He fell off his horse with a rumble, accusing eyes turned towards where the unexpected attack had come from.

Though said attack had helped Arwen, secrecy was now lost, of course. Two Uruk-hai at once cursed in this sleazy language with the harsh, hard consonants, dismounted and ran off with their weapons raised.

Startled, Arwen pulled her horse's reins as tightly as she dared. The animal's pained neigh stung her heart but she just knew the Mearh-stallion far too little for nonverbal communication yet; this was the only way she could get him to spin around and rear. As his front legs reeled through the air they hit one of the quickly departing Uruk so brutally in the back of his head that even his helmet couldn't save him anymore: The hooves smashed his skull.

Arwen should have been glad but the whole thing exacted an unexpected toll. Her leg muscles, still weakened from staying in bed for so long back then, in the camp, gave up on her. She lost grip and hit the ground hard. Her sword slipped from her hand as she threatened to black out for a moment.

The face of an Uruk-hai right above her, glowing with the desire to fight, kept her awake at the last moment. She could just barely roll to her side before his blade could cut into her lower belly – a cruel reminder of the last battle she'd been in that she could happily do without. With her teeth clenched, she crawled to her weapon, her fingertips just grazing the handle before the Uruk grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her back with a mixture of laughter and a roar. He kicked her in the side so firmly that it bordered on a miracle, there was no dry crunch following. Maybe it was just drowned out by Arwen's loud scream.

That, too, was silenced though when the Uruk placed a boot on her throat and put all the weight of his bulky body on her, starting to choke her. Colorful spots danced before Arwen's eyes. She tried with all her strength to shove the foot from her neck but her enemy just pressed down harder. She had almost lost consciousness already when she spotted the dark brown, massive shape of a horse, in spite of her blurred sight.

The remaining Uruk-hai had grabbed her stallion's reins. One of them had a dagger in his hand and wanted to kill the animal, but he underestimated its strength.

Alagas kicked out, managed to break away and spun around. He probably didn't even realize that his movements pushed the Uruk who attacked Arwen, aside so roughly that the enemy tumbled to the ground, dazed.

Retching and panting, Arwen reclaimed her consciousness and then her sword as well. The naked fight for survival and the worry finally provided her with that very strength again that the end of the war had robbed her of. She had to keep going, no matter what. She had to get to that cage, damnit! To help Tarisilya defeat that other Uruk. Her friend didn't stand the smallest chance against an enemy like that, especially not as a beginner in a close combat battle, with only one dagger.

The one who had wanted to kill the horse, got in the way. Seeing as he couldn't have the animal, he apparently wanted at least its owner to get acquainted with his dagger. Roaring aggressively, he hurled the weapon at her.

Arwen could somehow throw herself to the side, but the Uruk had aimed so well that his blade tore a strip across the side of her thigh, fortunately only a superficial one. Hissing, she toppled over but quickly recovered, and took the dagger before straightening up. With two weapons, she felt at least a little safer. Baring her teeth, she proceeded to attack.

She managed to have another enemy go down, unable to fight, but the other two soon found joy in another game. They came closer again and again and struck at the same time so Arwen hardly made it to fend off both blows. At least one of the blades hit her repeatedly, but never so badly that she lost her weapons again or collapsed. For now, the Uruk just wanted to see her bleed, and soon enough they had achieved that. Arwen's body was covered in numerous small wounds.

When her hope was fading more and more and her movements started to slow, one of the enemies suddenly stopped mid-movement. Baffled, he stared down at his chest. An arrow had pierced a hole in his armor and entered his body. The tip protruded from a spot near his heart and drew a last, confused snort from him before he fell like a rock.

His friend and the injured Uruk, just like the one that Tarisilya had wounded earlier, who had just approached to help the others, suddenly were in a great hurry to climb their horses and ride off.

By the distinguishing feathers at the arrow shaft, Arwen could tell that the weapon originated from Legolas' quiver, so she wasn't overly surprised when Arod, Brego and a third horse that she didn't immediately recognize, approached. The battle was over.

Finally she could go to that darned cave … Her legs didn't carry her further than two steps before she collapsed, her muscles going limp from the typical black poison in a few of her wounds. For the moment, her body had surrendered.

" _Arwen_!" Aragorn dismounted without even reining Brego in and more stumbled towards his beloved than he was running. Carefully pushing his arms under her, he lifted her up to get her away from the enemies' mutilated bodies. "Don't fall asleep, you hear me?" He immediately heard her irregular breathing, the slight rattle in it that revealed quickly growing exhaustion, not to mention the wounds.

Once reaching the soft grass of the forest's edge he gently put Arwen down. "You fought excellently. I knew you could do it. Come on, look at me! Tell me everything that's wrong."

"Ilya …"

Aragorn could barely make out Arwen's words, but he could read it on her lips, what she was trying to tell him. His blood felt ice cold immediately. So Legolas and he had been wrong, assuming by the look of things from a distance that Arwen was the one in the worst danger.

"Where is she?" And still he was clinging to the hope that nothing had happened to the other she-elf at least.

"Cave …" Arwen tried to sit up, in vain; first infections were starting to spread. With a scream, she fell back down. "An Uruk …"

Legolas who had just joined them to ask about his wife, had heard enough. He stormed off.

The cave entrance was hardly large enough for a grown-up person to squeeze themselves through. The trees shielding the niche blocked most of the light, so it took Legolas a moment to spot Tarisilya in the rearmost corner, not awake but breathing deeply and regularly as the voice of sanity whispered to him before he could entirely lose his mind in fear.

Still the worry occupied most of his attention, so he almost tripped over the corpse of an Uruk-hai next to Tarisilya. His own dagger had slit the creature's throat and covered the sandy, gravelly soil in black blood. Maybe he should have felt something like pride because Tarisilya had done so well. Instead there was more anger, even hate on himself, rising within him by the second. She should never have got into this situation. No matter how this day would end: That she had now indeed, for the first time in her life, taken someone else's might have dire consequences alone.

Without light, he couldn't assess Tarisilya's condition, so he rather picked her up and brought her outside. The narrowness of the passage made it hard. Scraping his face on rough rock left traces on Legolas' forehead and temple, blood that mingled with that from the untreated wound from the orc spear. Finally he could step out into the sunlight that shone down on the scene undimmed, as if it wanted to mock him with the illusion that everything had gone well.

Before he'd even sat Tarisilya down, she came around. His all but dewy appearance seemed to hurt her more than anything else. "I'm alright. I just hit my head a little too hard." When she wrapped her arms around Legolas' neck, he could feel her shudder as she tried to suppress the memories. "Really. I'm not hurt. He just bumped into me when he fell."

With his help she came to stand beside him and smiled weakly at Éomer who was eying her just as worriedly. "It's His Majesty who needs help if I read that right." She was walking towards him as she spoke, all her thoughts back with the King already, with Arwen, and with her other patient Saphras as well.

But then she stopped abruptly. Her face lost all color. With one hand pressed against her belly, she crouched down, reaching for her skirt up with the other, agitatedly. With its dark red color, it had hidden until now that Tarisilya hadn't come out of this battle half as unscathed as she'd thought. Only when she lifted her dress, very slowly as if it delaying the inevitable would change anything, it showed that a thin flow of blood was streaming down the insides of her legs.

One single look at Legolas was enough, full of guilt, grief and anger – and a plea for forgiveness.

A dead silence spread on the clearing.

This kind of expression, Aragorn had last seen on Legolas in Helm's Deep when his friend had left the safe shelter against all rationality and promptly paid the price. He knew, he could say whatever he wanted now; nothing would stop Legolas from going on a very personal hunt.

Yet the memory of how he had found his badly injured Ring Companion back then was enough to try and stand in his way when Legolas collected his second dagger and then headed for the horses, all of whom had only just gathered nearby. "Wait. You need to …"

"Get her to the fortress." Legolas pushed him away, like one might brush an annoying twig from one's face. The anger filled him with unbridled energy that was in need of an outlet. Even a good friend was well advised to stay away from that front.

Éomer didn't know the elf well enough yet to realize that. He grabbed Legolas' arm before he could mount. Apparently, the hoarse sound of Tarisilya's sobbing weighed heavier on him than every understanding for a blood vengeance that he might have longed for himself in such a situation. But not when someone was needed so much right now. "Come on, be rational …"

" _Get her to the fortress_!" Aragorn couldn't ever remember Legolas addressing any friend with such hostility before, especially not a King. More than anything an indication of his mind completely shutting down and only boiling emotions guiding him.

Roughly, he broke away from Éomer as well and got up on Tarisilya's stallion instead of Arod, to make use of his speed.

Éomer's healthy hand grabbed Gúthwinë's handle and raised it in the air, surprisingly quick given his bad state of health, holding it right before Legolas' chest so the horse bolted and Legolas looked like he was about to aim an arrow on the King once more. Ignoring the elf's murderous glance, Éomer turned his sword, offering Legolas the handle. "You will need that."

He wasn't rewarded with more than a short nod before Legolas tucked the weapon in a loop on the saddle and spurred Tercelborne to gallop from his standing position, without another look back, disappearing towards the area the rest of the Uruk-hai had fled to.

Aragorn was left behind in indecisiveness. He had to help Arwen but also wanted to stand by Tarisilya, seeing as her husband left her alone already.

In the end, he did approach Tarisilya first. But her head dismissively turned his way almost immediately, in a movement far too jerky for an elf. "Ilya …"

"Leave me alone, please. There is nothing you can do for me. You should rather check if there's any hope for Saphras left, and how Arwen is dong. The poison needs to be drawn from her wounds."

Leaving the battlefield with her head held high, casually wiping away her tears, Tarisilya almost looked like nothing had happened. From his longtime experience in healing, Aragorn knew, of course, that the shock was only to come later, and then she would truly collapse; still it was scary how calm she seemed from one second to another.

Éomer, already on his way to his captain whose fate he'd not even known anything about until now, watched the elf leave, just as affected as Aragorn. "We have to do something. After … something like that, she needs treatment, doesn't she?"

"She's a healer, she knows. She won't let anyone get close to her right now. The only one she'd want by her side right now, just cut and ran. And I would personally ride after that someone and yank him back here if there weren't beings who deserve my help more than an elf who leaves his wife back, just to pursue his lust for revenge."

This look, Tarisilya had just regarded Legolas with ... Maybe that was what was driving him.

And Aragorn, too, was trembling with rage on himself. A nagging voice in his head whispered that he was being co-responsible for this. The guilt tried to paralyze his thoughts, so Aragorn pushed it from his mind with all of his strength. Later, when everyone was safe, he would deal with this.

Seeing from afar how his old war companion's shoulders and head dropped in discouragement spared Aragorn a detour to the second catastrophe that day that he hadn't been able to prevent.

"I'm sorry. We've been here too late. Keep an eye on the surroundings. I don't want anything else to happen."

Éomer nodded silently and dragged himself to a ledge where he could sit down and watch both the plain and Tarisilya's slender shape under some thick trees in the distance. That way, he would be able to tell at once if her strength possibly left her again.

And Aragorn could turn to his other patient.

He found, Arwen had barely witnessed anything. She was caught in deep sleep.

That gave him a chance to look at her cuts without hurting her. Once the herb-soaked linen were in place that would hopefully soon take care of the poisoning, he patted her body down for possible fractures that he couldn't see with the naked eye. The relief of not noticing anything on her arms and legs died down again immediately when his fingertips traced Arwen's side and she startled, just regaining her orientation. Worriedly, he opened the lowest buttons of her tunic, revealing huge bruises. Only lightly, he caressed her skin to make sure. No, fortunately, no fractures, but it would be painful enough anyway, especially once she was riding again.

"What exactly do you think you're you doing?" Arwen's grin looked more like a grimace. At least she didn't seem as upset as at the farewell earlier.

"A well raised nobleman always waits for the maid to wake up before he touches her. Didn't you know?" Aragorn smiled at her just as halfheartedly and continued examining the injured spot.

"Then kindly go a little higher. I like that better." Arwen's joke turned into a juicy Sindarin-curse when Aragorn's touch caused her new pain. "How bad?"

"A single sprained rib, it will be alright." Aragorn put a hand on her shoulder to signal her that she should stay down. "Let me just apply a bandage, for breathing." Getting a thin blanket – part of the tent gear –, he cut it in pieces and helped Arwen sit up.

"Try to breathe slowly and not put too much strain on your side." He could tell by her squinted eyes how much it hurt her when he finished that last bandage and stroked her forehead apologetically. "Let it out. You've been strong enough today. Anything else wrong? Can you even get on your horse?"

"I'll manage."

Arwen looked around searchingly. "Where is Ilya?" Aragorn's dark expression and hesitation had her get up abruptly though her body visibly protested. "Where is she?"

"Close by." Suddenly, Aragorn had no strength for any movement. Even talking was difficult. Every fiber of him loathed telling his partner what had happened but she had to know, or she would hurt Tarisilya even more with a well-intended question. "Please stay. She wants to be alone. It's … She lost the baby. Legolas is just trying to make sure, these beasts cannot harm anyone else ever again."

Arwen couldn't say a single word. When Aragorn rested his hand on her arm, she just left it there for a few seconds. Then, with an indefinable look on her face, she hurried away, as quickly as she possibly could right now.

Only upon reaching Saphras' horse, Arwen's injured leg forced her to pause. She sank to her knees, coughing laboriously. Her lung was burning so badly that she almost blacked out again. Strangely enough, when she finally recovered herself, Aragorn still hadn't come to support her.

He seemed to sense that would be useless. Or maybe he thought that she was blaming him, and couldn't have taken it if Arwen had thrown anything else in his face, in addition to his self-reproaches that she already knew about.

Arwen had indeed been tempted, for a moment, to scream at him, to scream out all this pain and anger, the terrible news had stirred in her. After all, the others had ignored her objections. But in the end, they all had made this decision together; Arwen, too, had agreed, no matter how reluctantly. And it was _her_ who had lost this battle. Her failure had allowed this to happen to Tarisilya, had ended the life of the child before it had really begun. This knowledge felt just like that orc dagger at the Black Gate, only in Arwen's heart.

There was so much that she probably should be doing right now. Looking for Tarisilya, somehow trying to stand by her after all. Talk to Aragorn to prevent the threat of new bad vibes between them. Or set this pain inside of her free by breaking into loud sobs. None of it happened. She bleakly stared into the distance, not even feeling her injuries anymore.

As Arwen's gaze started to wander, on an aimless journey, still slightly clouded by infection, it stopped at the shape of Saphras' muscular body. As if on strings, she knelt down next to the man.

Her plan had worked, the soldier was still alive. He had even woken up, though his eyes were completely blind and his breathing hardly detectable. The man was long beyond help. Tarisilya had probably already suspected that, or she would be here now, no matter what.

Arwen could only stay with him until death would relieve him from his tortures.

And that was exactly what she did.

_iron as Anduin breaking the sea_

_untamed through drought and crud_

_steady across every mountain_

_and stronger every year you take to climb_

_your mind never wavering_

_kept awake by Eru in the sky_

_your courage cuts through foe and wall_

_controlled by nothing but your heart_

_keep on riding, keep on standing_

_protect the light_

_your legend will ever live on_

_if you never lose sight_

_protect the light_

_fear not for the Valar have graced you_

_and allowed you ever to grow_

_your mind steady, patient and free_

_and wild like a foal’s first spring run_

_no glimmering rock shining brighter_

_your sight will always be clear and true_

_your sword ever ready but never too swift_

_until the light welcomes you home_

_always too far and never far enough_

_your hand reaches for the stars_

_no stronger shield than your belief_

_no fight unworthy of your heart_

_keep on riding, keep on standing_

_protect the light_

_your legend will ever live on_

_if you never lose sight_

_protect the light_

_protect the light_

The last words of an elvish farewell song were still on Arwen's lips when Aragorn joined her, holding all horses by their reins.

"His wounds were far too severe, mîl nín. He wouldn't have survived transport anyway." He probably didn't even know whom his words were supposed to comfort: her or himself.

"He wished for me to sing for him." Arwen was hardly listening. Her eyes were fixed on that face, still twisted with pain even in death. Without really noticing, she kept on wiping away her tears.

The Rohir had only managed to get out a few very confused last words, but she had understood him anyway and gladly fulfilled his request.

That way, hopefully, he had at least felt that he wasn't alone when his chest had risen and fallen one last time and even the last spark of life had left his body.

Arwen hadn't wanted to stop singing even then, hoping, she could brighten his next path for him at least a little bit.

Now though was the time for her to stop running. She closed Saphras' eyes and got up with a jerk. "We finally have to get away from here."

Her body seemed to disagree. After a few steps, her legs already gave in once more. Not only her side protested noticeably. A few of the deeper wounds couldn't handle the strain and broke open again, coloring the bandages red.

This time, Aragorn was right beside her but paused at her ice-cold stare.

"It's our fault." Arwen's voice had lost every nuance. It sounded like a soulless being's. That visibly hit Aragorn more than an angry fit could have. "He had to suffer for so long …"

Arwen made a move to push her partner away but in the next moment, her hands clenched around his tunic for support. "It's because of us that he didn't get any help earlier, Estel, do you even realize that? And Ilya ... I _told_ you!" A first quiet sob choked her voice. In spite of the reproaches, she just couldn't entirely banish from her heart, she didn't let go of Aragorn, hiding her face against his chest, disheartened. "I wasn't strong enough. Only because of that, that Uruk could …"

"Don't, please." Aragorn interrupted her harshly enough for her to really listen, but caressed her hair soothingly, again and again. "You did more than anyone should have asked of you right now, especially me. Without your efforts, both of you would be dead now. You almost paid dearly for Legolas' and my recklessness."

Arwen reluctantly backed away and tried in vain to stop her hot tears. "Why doesn't it stop then? Why do I feel like my heart is breaking? Why can't I stand by Ilya like one of her best friends should, when she needs help so badly?"

"She couldn't accept that right now anyway. And you can't because you don't see that between the four of us, you're the only one free of guilt." Aragorn offered her his hand with a sigh. "Be angry with Legolas and me if it helps. We deserve that. But _you_ have nothing to blame yourself for."

Arwen let him help her up but turned away then. "I'm not the one who has to be angry with _anyone_ or forgive anything. I'm not the one whose child died because of this madness."

She took Arod and Alagas from him. "I'll get Ilya. The King and she, and I as well, need a healer and rest."

It didn't matter if they felt in a condition to leave. With three injured, the ride would take a lot longer than usual. The sooner they could stop by the temporary fortress, the sooner a sense of security would ensue – if that was even possible.


	7. Chapter 7

"Do come in, Your Majesty."

Éomer hadn’t spent enough time with elves in his life yet to be used to all of their abilities and startled at the sound of the invitation from inside the guestroom before he had even knocked. He wondered uneasily if maybe Tarisilya was one of those Firstborns who could easily read anyone’s mind, though that actually had become a rare gift. But he called himself stupid immediately. A good hearing and the ability to memorize details like someone’s gait were enough, especially in an old fortress like this where every single floorboard seemed to creak.

"I don't mean to intrude." He stopped in the door, hesitatingly. Trying to make out anything was futile. The completely darkened room didn't offer a lot of possibilities to stay but since the cloudy night let no ray of light come in through the only window, he could only guess.

"Company is beneficial for my recovery, whether I like it or not." Given how clear her voice sounded, she probably hadn't been asleep. "Go ahead, get some light."

Relieved, Éomer got a torch from outside and lit the four candles in the simple cast-iron holder on the table.

Contrary to apprehension, Tarisilya didn't sit on the ground in a cold corner but on the bed, with her knees drawn close to her chest. Her skin still had that unhealthily white sheen to it, like on the afternoon and at Saphras' funeral earlier, but at least she wasn't completely absent-minded anymore. She still didn't want to have a healer around though. More than once Aragorn had voiced the worry that she might possibly harm herself but it seemed, she had used the little time alone, instead, to further treat herself. Her mental condition though clearly still showed in her tearstained eyes.

"You should be asleep, Your Majesty. Your body needs a break." After Éomer had pulled up a footstool to the bed, Tarisilya leaned forward to touch his tightly bandaged shoulder and shook her head unwillingly. "There's much ahead of you before you can use it like you used to. Don't ask too much of yourself, or it will take longer or never be good again. It will heal," she calmed him when the fear took hold once more, of maybe never being able to actively fight ever again. "But for that, you need to play along. Did they give you something for the pain?"

"From such substances, I would instantly fall asleep. I can't do that before …" He stopped, anxiously looking at the window that gave a straight view of the Gap of Rohan in the distance. They'd been waiting for hours for a certain silhouette to show up there.

"What about you? Are you in pain?"

"I would be a bad healer if I couldn't do anything about that." She put him off, tiredly. "I've lost much blood, that's why I couldn't come to see you yet. Come tomorrow, I will be there for you."

"Are you even listening to yourself? No one is asking you to be strong after such a …" And he was at a loss for words already. How did you call that when a woman had to go through probably the worst that could happen to her? He wasn't good with such conversations. Éowyn could do that much better.

" _I_ am asking it. If I allowed the grief now, I'd probably be out there on a horse within minutes, but not to bring my husband back but to help him to butcher these bastards. _I hate them_!" Wrath glowed in Tarisilya's usually so gentle features. "It is unjust, but part of me will be happy when he comes back with their blood on his clothes."

"There's nothing wrong with thoughts of revenge." Instinctively, Éomer's hands turned to fists as well, in bitterness, far from being forgotten, in hate on everything he had gone through in the war. "Only when they control your whole life and let nothing else in, you need to let go of them. If I hunted everyone responsible for the death of my family and friends, I wouldn't find time to rule my country. On days when dozens have died, that's harder to accept than on others."

"You are a good King." Tarisilya squeezed his hand but quickly pulled away again. "Do not doubt that. Not every battle can be won. As a healer, I had to learn that early in life."

"It wasn't the first time I lost soldiers. Still …" Again, he paused, shaking his head. Tarisilya had enough worries of her own. He would have to deal with the faces of the dead from the last battle alone.

"If we'll be without news for much longer, I will send someone out."

"At this hour? Where are they even supposed to start looking?" For the first time, Tarisilya let it show how much her thoughts lingered with her husband.

"Maybe he'll never come back. It's because of me he left in the first place. After all, it's my fault that our baby …" Finally everything was unleashed that she had had under control save for those few minutes earlier. Everything that had been locked behind a wall of forced composure so far. She didn't resist Éomer when he put his healthy arm around her slightly clumsily, caressing her shoulder while she sobbed away, with her face buried against her knees.

Only when he seemed to perceive anything around her again, Éomer started to talk. "Will it bring the child back to life, beating yourself up like that? Is this the right thing to do?"

"No." A cynical smile curled on her lips. "And _if_ Legolas can ignore me being guilty, we'll probably be able to lock it away as a failed first attempt someday. Maybe at some point the Valar will even be foolish enough to leave us with the responsibility for a baby a second time. Then it will become memory, like a storm turning to dust in the wind before you rebuild everything. Is _that_ right?"

"That can only happen if you let it." Éomer cooled her hot cheeks with a wet rag from the washbowl next to the bed, trying not to pay attention to the bloody cloths on the floor. "No matter how many millennial pass, you will never forget the way you feel right now. Believe an old warlord who has taken a lot of blame upon himself in his short mortal life already."

"You are not old." At least he could make her smile. "You are a child, Your Majesty. And yet more mature than it could be said about my husband or me," she added quietly. "The Rohirrim can count themselves lucky to have a man like you in the lead. This wonderful land deserves no less. As the Valar have decided to punish me for my carelessness like this, I am at least grateful, they did it here. This country of freedom is like a light in the darkest night."

"You will always be welcome here, Ilya. Stay as long as you want. Me, I'm expected in Minas Tirith in a few days to witness Éowyn's marriage with the son of the diseased Steward, but my people will make sure you and Legolas have everything you need. Take care of yourself." Éomer felt that the she-elf really wanted to be alone again now and said good-bye with a fleeting kiss to her temple, without considering if that might be inappropriate. The gestures of comfort visibly did her good; that was all that counted.

But before the situation could possibly get embarrassing, he hurried to get to the door.

"Please be a little more mindful about your behavior towards women." Now Tarisilya did call after him though, with a sigh, probably remembering that such a thoughtless movement had already caused her husband annoyance at her last visit. "Not only because of us. Isn't there someone waiting for you too?"

"And someone who will soon come back to you. I haven't forgotten that, don't worry. I appreciate you as a friend, that's all." He forced himself to look into her eyes, ignoring her other remark. No one needed to know that his union with the daughter of the Prince of Dol Amroth had at least partly happened for rational reasons. That was something he had to deal with himself, for all his life.

"And I'm happy you're in such good hands because only that will be able to ease your pain someday. You're being very hard on yourself right now, Ilya. I hope your husband can make you see that this tragedy didn't change anything about what an enchanting being you are."

"Your encouragement is most welcome, Your Majesty. Still: Save it for your future wife, will you?" Her laughter, still very shaky, revealed that in her eyes, he only seemed even younger now.

And maybe he was. "That's the plan. Rest now. Aragorn and I will be waiting until we can report your husband's return to you."

Arwen was woken up by Éomer's heavy footsteps in the hallway outside the room she had been placed in. And unlike that one last night before everything had gone sideways, she was alone.

Aragorn had hardly talked during caring for her wounds once more. If Arwen hadn't noticed the complete lack of emotion in his eyes, she could almost have believed, everything was alright. Even when he had made her some pain-relieving tea to help her fall asleep, his hands had been steady as ever. But apparently, he’d only stayed until the tiredness had overwhelmed her.

She couldn’t make it so easy for him, or for herself. Arwen fought her way out from under the many blankets, Aragorn had spread over her thoughtfully. Fortunately, on the cold fireplace, there was still the bowl waiting, its contents even still hot.

On the way outside, Arwen wrapped the new night blue cloak around herself that Éomer had personally brought her earlier, silently, his pale face marked by grief for his people. Arwen was extremely grateful for the coarse but very thick fabric. The night air between such fortress walls was piercingly cold even at this time of the year.

Walking beside the high wall around the building, she found her very personal healer on one of the small observation platforms, motionlessly, staring into the distance. "It will take some more time before he comes back, Estel, I can feel it."

Her voice didn’t seem to take Aragorn by surprise. He’d probably long heard her; because of her new injury, her breathing was heavier than usual. But he hardly even looked up.

"Here, you must be cold." She reached the tea to him, only satisfied when he took at least a small sip.

"Why did you get up, Arwen?" While Aragorn didn't sound dismissive, but also not as if he asked out of worry. He sat back against the small platform’s rear wall and looked up to the sky.

Arwen forced a smile. "Well, _someone_ has to look out for you." Eying his haggard appearance critically, she sat down beside him, with some difficulty because of her injury, before she looked outside the hatch to the plains of Rohan in resignation.

It was obvious that Aragorn was favoring his right arm, as he had been all day, but she couldn't see bandages anywhere. He had taken care of everyone, just his own person was once more pushed to the end of the line. He probably would only take time to treat himself, too, once Legolas arrived.

"You only need to look out for people who are worth it. Which means you have no reason to be here."

Arwen had to suppress a startle. His words sounded far too much like the voice inside her head, screaming relentlessly that she had blood on her hands.

After she had voiced her opinion to her beloved without any sugarcoating earlier, Aragorn completely shut her out now, just like everybody else. He had meant to protect them all on this journey … And now this. This was a pain, Aragorn wanted to be alone with, like he'd always been so far.

Arwen just couldn't watch that. "I'm sorry about the afternoon …" she began hesitatingly.

"You only spoke the truth." Aragorn moved to stand up, but Arwen's hand on his arm had him pause. "What are you doing here? There's others who deserve your comfort much more."

"Stop it, please. You just wanted to do what was right, to help a close friend …" Arwen stopped. Pointless. How was she supposed to help someone process something that she couldn't even handle herself?

Suddenly she wished she really would have stayed in bed.

"Do what was _right_?" Now Aragorn took a few steps away from his beloved after all, to lean heavily on the railing next to the hatch. Once again it felt like he was carrying the whole weight of Middle-Earth on his shoulders, and after this day, he wasn't so sure anymore, that was a good idea.

"Legolas and I, and Ilya, too, we were blinded by ambition and a false sense of responsibility. One would think, warriors who fought Sauron's troops and wandered through the depths of Moria should know better than anyone else how strong orcs in great numbers are. But no. Who could stand a chance against the bow of the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and the sword of the future King of Gondor? And Ilya had nothing in her head but her patient, like every healer should. He and I would have deserved punishment for our arrogance, not she and the child."

Not for the first time that night, Aragorn thought back of the first war he'd ever gone to. It felt like a different life, seeing himself before his inner eye, with bloodstained clothes and a simple sword in his trembling hand. Only after that fight had he realized everything he had done that day, and he'd spent half of the night throwing up. _When_ had he lost the shock about such horror and the necessary respect for battle coming with it? Maybe with a little less indifference, he would have made the right choice today. The one for life. It was the second time within a few weeks now, for him to make that mistake.

"We should never have weighed Éomer's fate so carelessly. Only the Valar know how much this elven child might have achieved in this life, in these realms, if it wouldn't have died because of our stupidity."

And it was too easy, telling himself that the life of a King was very precious too.

_Gondor has no King. Gondor needs no King._

Boromir's words, albeit spoken in distrustfulness towards a rival back then, had contained a grain of truth, despite everything. Gondor had existed without the house of Kings for an eternity, too.

It wouldn't have been any different in Rohan. Not to mention that Éowyn could always have ascended to the throne, though that would probably have made her relationship with Faramir harder. Éomer's death would have been horrid, a heavy loss, not only for his people but also for Aragorn himself. However, the young man was not irreplaceable. No one was.

What if Aragorn had just witnessed too many exceptional situations last year to still deal with such difficult considerations neutrally enough? That boded ill for the future.

"Maybe someone who can't even protect his closest friends shouldn't be ruling a whole folk. What do you think?" Aragorn turned to leave with a bitter laugh.

Only that Arwen called his name, a pleading, choked sound, made him stop again. " _Why_? Why are you _still_ staying?"

The way Arwen blinked away tears looked almost defiantly. "Always, mîl nín, no matter what happens."

Aragorn knelt down before her with a tired sigh. "What if one day I fail our child the same way, Arwen? What if the Valar are actually merciful enough to bless us with one, and then I'll do everything wrong? You could have died today, just because of me. The image of how you would have lay there between those Uruk corpses if we'd arrived just a few moments later, is trying to drive me mad. And still you want to keep bearing this life, by my side. _Why_?"

"What is that you want to hear? That I don't have feelings for you anymore, just because you have been so very wrong this once? That’s nonsense, Estel, and you know it." Arwen vigorously grabbed his hand, nuzzling against it, without trying to hide that in spite of her determination, her cheeks were damp.

"When will you understand that my feelings for you are not fragile? It's not a couple of black creatures who cause me fear of the future, you know. That I'll soon have to ask your subjects for an audience to talk to you, _that's_ turning my stomach. And even if we get married quickly … How will things be between us if fate is _not_ in our favor? What can your heart allow you to do to satisfy your people's wishes?"

"Arwen …" Aragorn suddenly felt closely watched, as if his partner was trying to look inside his head, like her father so easily could. He could just have got up and left but suddenly was all but frozen, blindsided by the very last subject he wanted to talk about right now. "I don't know, I still don't. That's the truth. We'll have to talk about it if it comes to that."

Which was highly unfair. His thoughtlessness had only just recently hurt Arwen deeply. She didn't deserve to put efforts in adapting to the life at a court of Men, just for her to become possibly the unloved second wife in the end. Only he didn't have a solution for that.

"What do you think will change then? I cannot share you, Estel." Arwen hugged her knees, her clenched hands snow white just from the thought of a life under such circumstances.

Aragorn opened the clasp of his cloak and put it around her, in addition to her new one. "And I would never let you suffer like that. But I still want to hope that it won't come to that. I _have_ to hope. I can't face the prospect of losing you, not tonight."

Actually, the debate was far from over, but Arwen was completely overtired. Her chilly condition was prove enough of that. He helped her get up and gently caressed her slightly messy hair. "Try go back to sleep, alright? We'll pick this up tomorrow, I promise."

Only when she reluctantly nodded, he retired to his own chambers to keep on waiting.

Regardless of how deeply the news of the loss of soldiers had hit the Rohirrim, they hadn’t been given much time to grieve. Replacement needed to be found, but they were missing an experienced leader. A herald had been sent to Edoras to request reinforcements, a few others to the villages by the Gap, to tell the few remaining people there that the orcs were defeated. And riders had been dispatched to Gondor, Rivendell and the western regions as well, to give warnings about possible further attacks of this kind.

So the fortress was almost empty right now. The sight of the deserted halls and stables additionally weighed on Éomer's mind and had him wishing, not for the first time, that the time of reconstruction here would be over soon. Unfortunately, the area around the Gap in particular took priority when it came to the safety of Rohan. Today had just driven that home once more.

Since there wasn’t anyone he could talk to about these worries, he was being drawn to the horse paddock, as so often when he wanted to think in peace.

Tarisilya's mare Manyala was standing so peacefully among the others as if she’d always been part of the herd. She recognized Éomer from afar and snorted at him but was too tired to run to him.

Firefoot who was right beside her, with his head braced on her neck, apparently didn’t want to leave her alone at all anymore after returning here. He didn’t have more than a quiet neigh to spare for his owner either.

Éomer wondered if Tarisilya suspected. Not once had she asked about her horse. More than unusual considering how much the mare mattered to her – and more than understandable if one knew the reason why she had left Manyala in Rohan back then. Now Éomer wished he would have held off on letting the precious mare be served, not least because of the close relationship that had developed between Firefoot and her. As if it wasn’t enough that _he_ would have a hard time, letting Tarisilya go, next time. On top of that, separating Firefoot from his new friend … Well, the foal would stay here anyhow. His horse, at least, would keep a memory of his encounter with such a unique creature.

"Stay with her, boy. You’ve had a long day." When Firefoot sensed Éomer's restlessness and now wanted to trot to him after all, he quickly stepped back. Actually, he had wanted to check on the unborn, just like every evening, but with a shattered shoulder, admittedly, jumping the fence would be somewhat ambitious. And until he would have opened and closed the gate, at least three of the young animals who were romping about on the meadow as well, would have happily run off into the night.

Actually, the only thing on his mind right now was laying down for a while. His body was screaming for rest. He’d been beaten, kicked, thrown to the ground and tortured with daggers today. There would hopefully be no one resenting him for retiring a little, in spite of the continuous crisis.

His eyes just roamed the paddocks once more to check if everything was in order. Given what had happened, you never knew what lowlifes might still rove about the area.

And, indeed, someone was standing there at the other side of the fence who actually had as little business being there as a stranger at this time of the day.

So much for the plan of a good night's rest.

"Will you share with me why you are sneaking around here at night alone? Or would you rather stay here until you're sick enough or someone with evil intentions finds you?"

Arwen sighed deeply and tilted her head back, with her eyes closed. If someone absolutely _had_ to root her out here, couldn't it at least have been another conversation partner? But for how the King had once more taken them all in and provided so much aid, she owed him an explanation.

"I'm not falling sick that quickly, don't worry. Even though my body forgets more with each passing day that it's actually elvish. And I tried sleeping long enough. My thoughts torture me too much."

"Feeling guilty about Ilya?" Éomer whistled a short, high note, whereupon one of his horses immediately came trotting to him. Absent-mindedly fondling its neck, he visibly tried making sense of Arwen's behavior.

"That too." Arwen ran a restless hand through her hair. "In some way I feel … as if I got lost in the dark, in my own house." She paused, frowning, when she realized who it was she was about to talk so naturally to about her complicated emotional world here.

She hardly even knew Éomer. And Rohan's King surely had other problems than an elf who, after decades of irrevocable certainty regarding her future, was all of a sudden completely stumped.

But maybe a King could actually give her the best advice when it came to another King. To someone who Éomer, unlike Arwen, had often been quite close to in this last year no less. Besides, she could be assured of the young man's necessary discretion; he had to know exactly that certain matters among rulers could never stir unrest in their country.

"It is unclear for now how successful our trip to Imladris was. Right now, no one knows if I will ever be able to give Aragorn a child. Please keep that to yourself though."

"Of course." Éomer hesitated but that was definitely a surprised face. Certain rumors they just hadn't been able to avoid in the sick camp back then. "I cannot imagine that changing your relationship with him though. It's easy for anyone to see the closeness between you at a glance. Once you have tied the knot, nothing can separate you anymore anyway."

"If he wasn't who he is, there wouldn't be, no. And I _will_ marry him, there's no question about that. We've really waited long enough." Arwen was glad, there weren't any torches out here, that only moonlight lit the area. Hopefully, Éomer wouldn't see her blush. "Nothing is ever going to change the way we feel for each other. But I'm afraid that …"

"That people will try to get involved." Éomer's brows knitted in disapproval. "I'm afraid I can't tell you if Aragorn would give in to such pressure from the outside. No one knows what is going on in him. He's turned hiding his soul into art, just like he cannot be seen himself if he desires so."

"Indeed. Often not even by himself," Arwen added with a hint of bitterness.

"Running from this is not going to help _me_. This uncertainty is worse than picturing spending my life apart from him, because I'm not the right one for him, as far as people are concerned. Maybe I can handle a stranger's child if nothing about our marriage changes. But how will that affect _him_?"

"In that case, it would be Aragorn's duty to convince you that you're the only one that he wants, no matter what happens. I firmly believe that the two of you can make it through this, Lady Arwen." Éomer petted the horse's flank with his healthy hand, signaling it to move away again. Almost as if not even one of these clever creatures was supposed to overhear his next improper proposal.

"If neither of you can bear the thought of him having a child with another though, you could still take a baby in and accept it as your own."

"Lie to the people? Let the line of Kings end after all, and no one even knows? Can you even imagine what would happen if that ever got out? Wars have been started over much less, and Middle-earth has seen enough of those already. No way."

Discouraged, Arwen rested her arms on the fence and buried her face against them. "But what am I supposed to do until we have clarity? Sitting around somewhere in the Citadel, hoping and praying, until everyone can figure out what is wrong with me? Until Aragorn has to present another woman as the mother of his child then?"

"Don't get me wrong, but what do you have to lose?" Éomer seemed to sense that Arwen wanted to flare up and gave her no chance to.

"As far as I know, the elven realms are already dying out anyway. Soon there'll be but a handful of you in these realms. So where would you go? What would it hurt if you wait with Aragorn for what your fate will be? He deserves that, and you shouldn't deny yourself a life by his side either. You can be happy with him despite everything, but you'll have to do your part. The Kingdom of Rohan might not be as concerned about etiquette as Gondor, but one thing I do know: If you want to be close to the King, you have to become part of the court. You have to learn how to properly act in the world of Men. That alone will take some time."

For a moment almost unperceivable, a huge hand squeezed her trembling shoulder. "As long as you can stand it, you should wait what the future brings. Don't give up. So far, it has always paid off to show strength, don't you think?"

For a moment, Arwen had nothing to say. Actually, she was now being even more confused than before. Finally she murmured a hasty but honest thanks and paced back to the fortress.

Once she could close her chamber doors behind her, her side had started throbbing harder again. After another quickly emptied cup of pain tea, she took off the cloak that Aragorn had given her, lay down on her bed and hid her face in the grey fabric, curled up under the blankets as she was still feeling so awfully cold. She'd probably never get used to that. That and many other things.

After that conversation she knew at least that the decision about what would happen was only hers. She was the one who had to figure out what she was willing to endure for her happiness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the subject comes up in this chapter once more, just a quick remark on the whole matter regarding an elf losing their healing powers: If you read all the series installments so far, you'll remember that this has been an issue for Tarisilya ever since she came of age, as she often longed to learn the art of fighting but has been warned all her life that going to battle could result in losing her gift. This is rooted in LACE where it's said that killing diminishes elvish healing powers (the gift of healing by magic and song, as opposed to techniques and knowledge). I feel I should point out this once more as this chapter makes it look like both LACE and Tarisilya's family, Elrond & Co. are wrong about the subject; without giving away too much, I'd just like to assure that Ilya hasn't seen the last of that problem yet.

Arwen's attempt of getting Tarisilya to talk the next morning was refused before it even started, just like expected, with a determined headshake and a demonstrative look back into the makeshift treatment room that Tarisilya must have installed in Éomer's chambers before sunrise already. Apparently, despite all fears and warnings, at least her abilities didn't seem to have been damaged after taking that Uruk-hai's life.

"It's alright."

Ironically on the outside, her friend seemed a lot more composed than Aragorn and Arwen had in the last few hours. But this frightening coldness and emptiness of her put-on smile and in her eyes, Arwen had never seen on this still so young elf before. It was breaking her heart in two.

"I'll manage, don't worry. My body is even as good as mended already. Probably this just wasn't meant to be. Maybe …" Tarisilya stopped and closed her eyes for a moment, visibly clinging to her composure, using the same force that her hand almost splintered the doorframe with. "Maybe the baby felt it. Somehow … somehow it might have known that I was afraid of this whole thing. Maybe they thought, I didn't even want them …"

"Ilya, come on, that's nonsense ..." Arwen reached out for her friend in vain; Tarisilya backed away immediately. This obviously didn't work as easy as in Imladris anymore, when Arwen had so arduously tried to talk Tarisilya out of this whole thing with her alleged moon-fate.

"Maybe, maybe not. I guess I won't know that for sure until I meet them one day, hopefully. Provided Mandos had mercy on our little one's soul. Until then, this uncertainty is a mild punishment for what I have to answer for."

Arwen had further objections, but Tarisilya cut her off. "I have to get back, don't be mad. If I don't undo the worst damage now, the King will have to live with impairments all his life. And somehow, he has to make it at least to his sister's wedding. I'll see you later, alright?" And with that, she closed the door behind her.

Arwen was left with nothing but helplessness.

Shortly after a first matinal meeting with Éomer in the treatment room, the scouts in the observation towers finally reported to the rest of the travelers that Legolas was approaching. Aragorn ran outside to his friend immediately, but that wouldn't even have been necessary.

Legolas wasn't in much of a hurry. Apparently he didn't care at all, how many people had been worrying about him the whole time. Again and again, he slowed Tercelborne down to a walk, almost creeping towards the gate at snail's pace in the end. The light of dawn revealed what a well-known, hated stench had already made Aragorn suspect. Both Tercelborne's fur and Legolas' traveling clothes were sullied with black blood. A victorious trip then, though Legolas' expression wasn't exactly one of exuberant triumph.

That Aragorn could clearly see how completely worn out his friend was, didn't stir any compassion in his heart, just anger. He still remembered Tarisilya's tortured look yesterday way too well, just like Arwen's screams in his ear.

Legolas had been so damn careless, so thoughtless, and inconsiderate towards Tarisilya as well. Aragorn was no stranger to the wish for retribution, but preventing even worse things to happen after a catastrophe counted much more. Legolas had made sure that his wife was only suffering even more.

When Tercelborne stopped next to him, he looked up at his rider in annoyance. "A truly experienced hunter would have brought a trophy, maybe an Uruk-hai-head or two. I'm disappointed. With your behavior when you left, I'd expected more of you."

"I need to talk to you, Aragorn. Please wait for me in the back yard. I'll be right there."

Completely ignoring the dig, Legolas just rode past Aragorn and gave Tercelborne over to a stable hand before he approached the entrance with heavy footsteps. Probably he didn't even realize how disrespectful he was being right now, not only towards a good friend but towards the future King of Gondor. Aragorn was surprised he didn’t run into the next best column, considering how absently he was staring into the distance.

Somehow, Aragorn swallowed his anger and took a few minutes for himself. Not just for changing his clothes but also to take a few deep breaths over a cup of tea so he wouldn't treat his friend with the whole accumulated rage of last night in a moment.

No matter how big his desire was to scream at the elf, to shake him until he might finally understand certain things: Legolas had suffered a cruel loss. He needed assistance now, not smart lectures. Maybe this experience by itself would change something about his attitude already.

Knowing King Thranduil, Aragorn, unfortunately, had to doubt it.

"Why are you still here, Aragorn? You could long have gone on. Your realm is waiting for you."

Aragorn didn't know what exactly he had expected, entering the garden behind the fortress, but these first distanced sentences almost had him turn back on the spot. He frantically reminded himself once more that Legolas couldn't think clearly right now which diminished rhetorical skills too.

"Well, one of us had to take care of Ilya." With his arms crossed, he leaned against the tree the top of which Legolas had gotten comfortable in – _again_. Aragorn had given up getting upset by it.

"And I'm grateful for it, but now, that is my job again." If Legolas was in the mood for a fundamental debate, at least he couldn't be doing too badly. "It would be better if you left for Minas Tirith before this day is up. My absence slowed you down long enough. Our needs can no longer stand in the way of your duties; I should never have forgotten that in the first place."

"You should rather second guess your own decisions before you want to tell me what to do."

More tired by the second, Aragorn wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. So he was sent away then, and from someone who wasn't even the landlord here no less. A full retreat it was, from Aragorn, too. Not entirely unexpected but nothing that he would play along with. Because first, he had to have several conversations alone – among them one with Éomer about secrecy regarding this whole crisis.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about." Legolas' eyes were filled with unmistakable yearning when he looked North, to where Eryn Lasgalen and Lórien were located. Where he'd actually wanted to travel to with Tarisilya right after the war already, instead of accompanying Aragorn on a trip to the past. "I followed you as far as I could. Now it's time for me to find my own way again. Ithilien is waiting for me, and before that, I have other responsibilities that I've neglected for far too long already – just like you neglected yours. Gondor's demands for its King get louder and louder."

"Gondor has waited millennia for a King, it will manage patience for another few days. I have worked towards fulfilling my destiny almost all my life. You don't have to worry, I could suddenly change my mind. I have revealed myself as Isildur's heir. I don't plan to vanish soon like some of my ancestors, and burden my heir with my duties. In my case, that would be difficult anyway."

Caught between exhaustion and grief, Aragorn lightly beat his head against the coarse tree bark a few times. It didn't help to feel any clearer in it. "I am tired, Legolas. Of fighting, of all the suffering, and of apparently never being able to find peace. _Real_ peace, the feeling that none of my wrong decisions can harm my friends anymore. Nevertheless, I know my obligations, so stop using them as an excuse, as if it was best for me that even the last member of the Fellowship leaves me alone now. _Again_ , instead of even considering letting me stand by you in your pain."

Breathing heavily, he took a few steps away from the tree, his hands turning into helpless fists. "Does this disaster yesterday and that I am to blame for it, cause that rift between us? Then rather tell me openly before you're going your way. I want more than maybe being able to see you from the white walls from time to time at some point, just from the distance, because you forget to visit my city during my lifetime. They say elves seeking solitude do forget the time every now and then."

No matter how distantly Legolas had just spoken, now his smile suddenly looked very warm, a gesture so rare that it was surprising each time, how much inner peace it bestowed upon a troubled mind.

"Don't be silly. I didn't say we wouldn't meet again soon. We both have to live with the decisions we made yesterday. That has nothing to do with our friendship. But this business is between Ilya and me. You and I will face other challenges. I meant what I told you on the Field of Cormallen when we celebrated the deeds of the hobbits. Provided that my King allows, Gondor will become my home soon. In North Ithilien, where your healing hands have lifted my wife from her deathbed, my people and I will do our part to restore the beauty of your land. While our collaboration in the name of the Ring has to end today, I'll remain obliged towards you, Aragorn. The burden of millennia will not lessen my deep affection for you. Know that my road will lead me to you faster than the wind over Minas Tirith, whenever you seek my advice or help. For the moment though, it is time to say good-bye, Your Majesty."

"Your words penetrate as unerringly as your arrows, mellon. Don't bid good-bye to me like to a ruler. I never faced you like one, and I will never ask you to kneel before me." Aragorn felt empty. Not even the powerful sun rays could chase away the coldness in his heart. Though Legolas was trying to make the farewell less painful: Aragorn just had lost and had let too many beings go already for such comfort to work.

Legolas had become a pillar in Aragorn's life. Especially since he was one of the few who understood that the shadows on Aragorn's soul couldn't just be covered up with the excitement of a new life.

Boromir's death had started the breaking of their former Fellowship, and this process was just coming to an end. For the first time in a long while, Aragorn felt too small and weak to face what was awaiting him alone. That was an exaggeration, of course, nothing but a kneejerk reaction, but right now, even the last safety that the Fellowship of the Ring had given him this last year seemed to vanish.

"You don't have to ask for my permission if you want to settle in my land; actually, you should know that." He forced himself to smile as well. "I grew up with your people, you have become my family. It would grieve me more if you were all to leave me. The trombones will sound from the white walls to greet you whenever you are being spotted in the distance."

And next time, he'd even be able to look Legolas in the eyes when he let him go. Today, he didn't even make it to get the last good-bye past his lips.

Legolas would still know what he wanted to tell him. Their ways had parted too often, for words to still be necessary to know what was going on in each other.

Since yesterday, Arwen had been pondering how she should act towards Legolas. Of all the possible scenarios in her head, greeting him with a slap was the most tempting – it wasn't the first time for her to feel that urge. Back then already, at the turn of the millennium of Men, it had been his way of treating Tarisilya, _so_ clumsy sometimes, that had almost had Arwen lose her composure for a moment.

But when she indeed managed to head him off then, before he could do even more harm, after that talk of crisis with Aragorn that had left her beloved with so much pain and bitterness … Given Legolas' bloodshot eyes and his deathly pale face, she just couldn't let her emotions run their course. After all these centuries of friendship, this elf was just way too important to her for that.

She had to try, at least, to make him see that he had messed up though, even if she would be ignored just like Aragorn.

"Don't you think you're a little late for that?" she barked at him, pointing at the paddocks where a frighteningly slender person stood leaning against the fence heavily.

She was surprised that Tarisilya had actually left her patient alone for a while but glad about it. Her beloved mare's proximity might help distract her a little, seeing as Arwen had failed to do that already.

"Do you realize that your wife is blaming herself for the miscarriage? Is that what you tried to achieve?"

"Of course not." Legolas' posture slumped immediately, he sank against the doorframe. It looked agitated, the way he wiped his eyes, trying to wipe out the memory. "There was no other way. I had to get rid of this rage somehow, before it would possibly have been targeted at the wrong people, Arwen. Neither of you two was responsible, I know that, but I needed a few hours to really let it sink in. Should _I_ rather have reproached Ilya?"

Arwen shook her head, in understanding though still not in approval. She should have figured there was more behind this stupid endeavor than a blind thirst for revenge.

Legolas had never learned how to deal with loss. And how could he have? His father had walled in his whole Kingdom after losing his own father in the War of the Last Alliance back then and declared cold war on Lórien when his wife had perished so shortly afterward as well. And at his mother's deathbed, Legolas – being no more than a half-grown elfling at that point – had had to sit alone as he had confided to her at some point.

Arwen could only hope that Tarisilya would make him see, he didn't have to deal with everything on his own anymore. He'd had already built that wall between Arwen and him again that she could always only tear down after days of hard work, and she didn't have those this time.

"Aragorn says, we're going. Can I leave you alone? Will you be alright until we meet again?"

"I always was. You should know that." Legolas squeezed her shoulder for a moment; it felt halfhearted. "Go. Your new Kingdom is waiting for you. Depending on where Ilya is being drawn to and for how long, we probably won't be far behind you anyway. And once we're neighbors then, our wounds will have closed. I'll be seeing you soon, Arwen. Take care of yourself."

"You should be the one taking that to heart, not me." But Arwen let him go, albeit with a stomachache.

At this point, she hadn't had a mortal body long enough yet to know that closed wounds were not the same as scarred ones. It was only much later she would realize how many things could have gone differently if she hadn't left two of her best friends alone that day.

"Did you get lost on your way here? I didn't realize the fortress was that big."

The harsh tone in Tarisilya's voice almost had Legolas turn around on the spot. He forced himself to keep going. The confrontation was inevitable. Waiting wouldn't make it any easier.

"I needed to collect myself for a few minutes." At least they were alone at the paddock, and there was almost no one in the fortress right now either who could possibly watch them through a window and get all worked up about a little too much public affection. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around his wife from behind. She didn't exactly startle back but she didn't give up her slouched position even an inch either, so he stepped away voluntarily, accepting the silent rejection. "I … don't know what to say."

Just yesterday, everything had seemed so easy to him. A few dead Uruk-hai, and then the pain and rage would shut up. Now both came back, like the burning of a wound, only so much more intensive. Tarisilya and he had had hardly had time to get used to the thought that they would be parents soon. Only now Legolas realized how much he had loved this child already. There wasn't enough black blood in existence to make it right that this baby had died before he had even been allowed to feel its beginning life.

And he was the one to blame; apparently, Tarisilya knew that very well in spite of her self-reproaches. He really shouldn't be surprised she was treating him like a stranger, that it was suddenly completely silent in their fickle mental bond too. Apparently, he hadn't even needed to ponder so much about where the two of them would wind up next.

Maybe he would wake up tomorrow, and she would just be gone. She'd probably go to Lórien, somewhere he couldn't reach her once more. No longer because his father didn't want to see him there but because Lady Galadriel wouldn't want him anywhere near her charge after he had hurt them so much. Soon enough, they would doubtlessly sail west together then; maybe he wouldn't see Tarisilya at all anymore, for decades, centuries – _millennia_? –, and …

The thought threatened to bring him to his knees, he downright had to hold on to the fence. He couldn't let Tarisilya know. She was busy enough, dealing with her own grief. He should leave before he hurt her even more.

"I know," Tarisilya answered belated, at least not that coldly anymore, though her eyes were still stubbornly fixed on Manyala. "When it came to emotions, words were never your strong suit. Instead of wasting time, talking about all the things you would do for me, you just do them, consequences be damned. Without even considering _my_ opinion. Can you even imagine how much I've been waiting for you last night? How afraid I was? I thought you would never be back. Either because you get yourself killed or because you don't want me anymore, now that I …"

Only now, Legolas realized that she was thinking the exact same thing he was – that she didn't deserve him worrying about her. And he had personally fed that nonsensical idea. "I'm sorry, Ilya …" He tried hugging her again, but this time she _did_ break loose from him, immediately.

"That is not going to work this time, Legolas. You can neither talk this away nor shoot it with your bow. My family I will be seeing again someday. With this pain, you helped me like no other. But this child is _dead_. It was never allowed to see the sun or the stars. It could never feel anything, learn anything, no love, no happiness, _nothing_! If Mandos has saved its soul at least, it will hate me for all eternity. _I_ did this to the baby, no one else …"

She kept on resisting when he reached for her again, no longer giving a damn about possible watchers. But this time, Legolas didn't let go of her. Instead, he held her pressed against his chest with all his strength while she screamed out her anger into the bright summer afternoon, her small fists weakly thrusting against his upper body again and again. She needed this anger, just like he had needed his yesterday. And someone to absorb it.

"I am with you." Only when she went silent, breathing heavily as she stilled, he spoke up again. "Always, as long as you want me to. That was my eternal promise to you, and it is what I will do. My foolish behavior has already caused the demise of my own flesh and blood. I will not lose you too, Ilya." He told her with the same determination as back then, when they had started their relationship. "I love you. Nothing can ever change that."

That was all he could do to assure her that nothing had changed about how he felt, now that she wouldn't be able to tell via their temporarily silenced bond anymore. Now it was her turn.

It took Tarisilya many long moments before she finally made it to raise her head and look into her husband's eyes. So Legolas did indeed still want her, and he wanted to stand by her, in spite of her treating him so horrible just a minute ago. That was how important she was to him, still. She should have tried the same, starting by telling him that it had _not_ been his fault. After all, it was she who had insisted that he left her alone at the Gap.

But maybe some guilt, you couldn't deny. Maybe they both needed it, as a reminder for the future, whatever might happen there. And whatever that might be, they would face it together. That was more than Tarisilya had expected last night.

"I need time, Legolas." She freed herself from his grasp again, but instead firmly took his hand this time. "I can't just move on, as if nothing happened."

"I never said, you were supposed to. Neither of us is." Legolas caressed the back of her hand timidly. "We're leaving the fortress as soon as you're feeling well enough for it. A few days outdoors in Rohan will be good for both of us. We could ride to Lórien too if that's what you want. Lady Galadriel would surely be delighted. And we could invite the first of our friends there to Gondor, to make a new start."

"No. Letters will suffice for that. And we should be in Minas Tirith when his Majesty Aragorn will finally be crowned. We owe that to him."

That was only half the truth though. Tarisilya didn't know how she could explain to Legolas that the Golden Wood, she had always loved with all of her heart, suddenly scared her off as formerly only the sight of Mordor in the distance could have. It would be empty there, dead, and not only because more and more residents were sailing into the west. The magic of the trees was fading; Lady Galadriel had told her in Imladris. What had always been such an integral part of her life, was fading into obscurity more and more. After the previous day, that was more than she could handle to witness.

"Being alone for a while before that would be nice. I just don't want to stray too far from here. If we are to stay for a while anyway, I might as well do a few more healing sessions with the King. But His Majesty and Arwen …"

Legolas fleetingly kissed her knuckles as if they were back at the very beginning of their relationship where everything but such harmless gestures of affection had been strictly forbidden. It would take some time before they'd be able to be as naturally close again as after their wedding.

"There's hardly a safer road than the one from Rohan to Gondor right now. Nothing will happen to them. Besides, we'll see them again soon, right? People won't be willing to have much more patience about that ceremony. I know how important they are to you. Once we live in Gondor, we'll be frequently meeting."

Tarisilya just nodded. She had long realized that her two fellow travelers were getting ready to leave. She had thought, Legolas wanted to follow them later that day. Now she knew better.

Manyala seemed to have heard that her owner – who had admittedly rudely ignored her since her arrival –, would be staying for a while. Getting away from her partner for a moment, she trotted towards the fence with a questioning neigh, hoping to finally be regarded with more than a glance and icy silence.

Noticing how Tarisilya stepped back, Legolas grasped her hand tighter. "It's not her fault. You're hurting her."

"When _I_ am being hurt it can happen that I bite randomly," Tarisilya answered irritatedly. No, she had not forgotten that Legolas had left her alone yesterday.

She abruptly hurried back to the fortress, just ignoring Manyala's offended snort.

After that abrupt departure, Legolas didn't dare to follow his wife right away. They would both fist need to find the best way to make it through the next few days, the next few weeks, months.

Through probably their whole eternity together, for this pain would never leave.

Legolas at least wanted to greet Tarisilya's mare now and look after the foal in her belly whose plain existence burdened Tarisilya so much that she couldn't even stand being close to her beloved horse.

But Manyala seemed to have realized Legolas was the reason for her owner being so sad. Not only did she back off but she also kicked him, so blazingly fast and unexpectedly that she hit Legolas' shin quite ungently. At least _someone_ bluntly gave him a piece of their mind.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the main storyline of the next few series parts which will take place mostly in Gondor is officially starting in this chapter, the next couple of chapters will feature a little introduction into the mannish post-war-world. All you elf-lovers like me, please bear with me a little. I promise, our favorite Firstborn idiots will be back soon enough to fuck up more shit :D.

Tense silence prevailed since Aragorn and Arwen had left the fortress behind, riding at a leisurely speed across one of the endless plains that shaped the area between the Gap of Rohan and the capital, Edoras, so much. They both only stared ahead, towards their journey's destination although it would take quite some time before they would even be able to spot it.

Only occasionally, Aragorn dared to eye Arwen from the side. That she didn't let her pain show at all made him visibly restless. As far as he was concerned, another night of rest wouldn't have hurt her. But unfortunately, Legolas was right. Especially since they wouldn't be able to gallop much, they had to prevent further delay. Or at some point, people would rightfully blame Aragorn for keeping on dodging his responsibilities.

"Let me know as soon as we need to take a break, alright?"

Arwen didn't answer right away.

Only when Aragorn pressed her on the subject, her head jerked towards him. "I'll stay with you, no matter what. Even as the wrong Queen if I have to."

Bewildered because she brought up the subject again so suddenly, Aragorn shook his head. It was plain to see, he still didn't manage to face this scenario even in his head. "I could never ask that of you. You know exactly there could never be anyone else for me but you."

"You gave up on that choice when you accepted regency." Arwen flared up a little too harshly. Clenching her teeth, she closed her eyes.

"I do not know yet either how exactly I am supposed to do that. Maybe in a few years … Much can happen until then. Or we will find another way after all. But whatever we do plan, _I_ want us to do it together. What about you? You as well will have to decide if you can really accept our relationship with every consequence. If you don't, rather tell me soon, Estel. There might not be much except you for me on Middle-earth, but I will prefer spending the time as a mortal that I will be given alone, over becoming the reason for a new war among Men. You can't keep running from this question forever. It will be with us for a very long time. I will wait until you can give me a definite answer. But no longer. I have a life of my own too, you know."

Instead of waiting for Aragorn's reaction, she signaled Alagas that he should trot ahead a bit. She hissed softly when her side started to protest at every of the quick hoof beats, but she couldn't have dealt with Aragorn's baffled expression right now.

Aragorn spurred Brego on to ride up to her again, took off his cloak, and wrapped it around her, just like last night. He must have noticed her goose-flesh.

"Thank you." He stroked the small jewel of Galadriel around her neck, a gesture saying more than any grave word. No matter how this might end, he was noticeably glad that unlike his Companions, Arwen wouldn't leave Minas Tirith sooner or later to go her own way. Not as long as there was hope. "I will think about it, I promise. Thank you for staying by my side at least for what's coming next, Nauriel."

This time it was he who didn't give her a chance to speak but let his horse drop back a few feet.

The herald that Éomer had sent to Gondor, had of course also passed on the tidings that Aragorn was on his way back home. So Aragorn shouldn't have been surprised about being expected.

But a welcoming committee far outside the city, he hadn't seen coming, not yet. While Minas Tirith in its full glory was already visible behind the wide fields, the crops of which had been feeding Men in this area for centuries, it hardly seemed to grow bigger, in spite of their speed having quickened by now.

Aragorn had made it across this barren run of the last stretch of road that gave you a feeling, you just didn't make any progress, often enough in the past. That the thoughtful silence between Arwen and him would hurt there especially much, he'd actually already had resigned himself to.

Instead, four little whirlwinds suddenly jumped towards them, as soon as they'd got past the hill at the edge of this long plain. With roaring cheers and their arms joyfully thrown up in the air, the people came running to them, so Arwen's horse almost bolted and even the usually unflinching Brego reared up in defense for a moment.

It took them a moment to make the horses understand that they weren't dealing with dangerous attackers but only a bunch of rambunctious halflings.

"My friends." With a smile that Aragorn had only rarely been able to show in the last few months, he dismounted and hugged his former Companions, one after the other, starting with Frodo who at Aragorn's departure from Minas Tirith had still been quite weak, even at that first cautious victory celebration back then.

It was all the more delightful that by now, all of the hobbits seemed to be in the best of health again. Not only had they been newly clothed in the royal tailor's shop of Minas Tirith, but they had also put on some weight so that their stout bellies stretched the waistbands of their neat new pants impressively. All of them had their well-tanned skin and always slightly red cheeks back. And, most importantly: They had learned how to laugh again. Everyone who knew a little bit about halflings and who had met these four in the war had missed that sound.

"We waited for you, Strider!" Merry announced proudly. "They said you would take so much longer, but we knew you wouldn't make us wait anymore!"

"Gandalf said, we would be camping for days by the wayside, for nothing," Pippin added, grinning. "We should have bet him some pipeweed."

"I doubt that he would have been in on that, my friend. Either way, I'm happy you're here." Aragorn took them both by the shoulder for a moment and then turned back to Frodo who was waiting silently in the background, withdrawn.

While he might be healed on the outside – even the ugly wound on his hand had scarred over as Aragorn noticed from a checking glance –, the other hobbits' ability to leave bad things of the past behind in a minimum of time, he had obviously not mastered yet.

"Although I did not even expect you to still be in Gondor, to be honest." Worried, Aragorn bent down to Frodo to be able to look into these huge round, blue eyes that distinguished the little hero of this war so much. "I tasked Faramir with organizing an escort to see you home."

"He would have," Frodo quickly replied. "And I miss the Shire very much. But after everything that we went through together, and what you did for us, we didn't want to miss the coronation. Sam can hardly wait to see all the she-elves in their festive dresses who arrive in Minas Tirith one by one," he added teasingly, not quite as jolly as the others yet but at least not with so much frightening seriousness anymore either.

"That's not true!" Sam tossed in from the side in protest. "I always voted for traveling home, but Merry and Pip didn't want to miss the banquet!"

"You're one to talk!" Merry's finger pricked his belly that even exceeded the ones of the others in size. "Who's always the one with the fullest plate at Faramir's table?"

"If you keep this up, we won't arrive in Minas Tirith for another two months."

Arwen put an end to the little argument by greeting the hobbits as well and assuring them that she was feeling well again. Given how well she feigned a smile at that, Aragorn would almost have believed her himself.

"Correct. And I'm being drawn to my home as well, so let's go." Aragorn motioned the four of them to get the ponies who were tied to a tree nearby, surely gifts from Rohan to the halflings.

Only once it was uttered, he realized, it had not been just an empty phrase … The sight of Minas Tirith elicited indeed a yearning in him like only the gap of Imladris could so far. In spite of all duties, behind these white walls, there was the place where he had always belonged. True anticipation slowly took hold of him.

"Are the others not coming?" Sam asked with the same curiosity you could always see by the tip of his ears when it came to elves.

When Aragorn's expression darkened, worry quickly gained the upper hand though. Sam had been there after the Battle of the Black Gate when Aragorn had fought for Arwen's and Tarisilya's life. The night had left a lasting impression. "The she-elf isn't doing so badly again, is she?"

"No, don't worry." The hobbits still being around, and that contrary to Aragorn's belief, Mithrandir was still in Gondor as well, that was already more than he had expected after saying good-bye to Legolas. Not only was what had happened in Rohan no one's business but Legolas' and his wife's, unless they wanted to tell people themselves. Aragorn also had to swallow his sadness about it for the moment and try to be happy that he wasn't half as alone as he had thought.

"Our friends have to pursue their former duties again now, that's all. And the same goes for us, so let us hurry."

At least the issue of too much silence was solved now; the hobbits talked in great detail about everything that had happened during Aragorn's absence. From reconstruction work in the city that they had done their best to help with to the arrival of many dwarves who gave a hand with the repairs as well, to Gimli's trips to Rohan, to the mines of Aglarond behind Helm's Deep where a new dwarf settlement was being created right now. They also talked about Mithrandir's commitment to the people, about their healing progress, and their growing trust in the future – help that Faramir had been very grateful for again and again. And of course, they told Aragorn and Arwen everything about the preparations for Faramir's and Éowyn's wedding that were just reaching their peak.

"You're just in time," Pippin announced with shining eyes. "It's just a few days now! I happened to spot Lady Éowyn when she saw the tailor. She has such a beautiful dress!"

"'Watched in secret' is probably more like it," Aragorn remarked with a small smirk. "And yes, we are aware. It was one of the reasons to cut our stay in Imladris very short."

As beautiful as such a big celebration would be for the people, his main interest lay elsewhere. It showed at a distance already how well the walls of Minas Tirith had been restored. That was only appearances though, important to daunt the enemy groups still in existence. Aragorn's worries during the whole journey had revolved around what was going on behind these walls.

To some extent, the hobbits’ reports calmed him. No matter how many doubts he had had himself in the beginning: This journey had been the right decision. Definitely with regard to Arwen, but also because the people hopefully knew now how worried he was for his whole realm, not only for certain places. Now he could deal with formally building his government with a clear conscience. Now that it was almost time, he didn't want to wait another hour to finally face his folk as their leader.

While the attention of that kind would have felt premature and exaggerated a few weeks ago, he now felt a shadow in his heart being lifted that had spread there ever since the end of the war, when loud fanfares sounded from the white walls as soon as the riders came within sight.

Instinctively his shoulders straightened, his whole posture. Just as instinctively, he got Brego into an extended trot that wasn't only faster but looked more purposeful, too. Instead of searching the ground for any kind of tracks out of habit, his eyes were fixed on the destination. Doubt, sadness, guilt gave way to the wisdom of many long years of preparation for his calling. It was a change he hardly even realized himself anymore, that had become as natural to him as changing his traveling clothes against clean, neat ones right after arrival, and get his occasionally unruly hair into a decent shape. But he didn't miss the glances of his fellow travelers, some of them full of recognition, some surprised.

Aragorn smiled. For the moment, all trouble behind and ahead of him was forgotten. The same news that was spreading in the city like wildfire and that had the first bystanders appear on the roads and outside the walls already, unfolded its impact in his soul for good and closed a few of the deepest wounds there:

The King had returned.

Before the riders had even reached the city gate, a few first spectators had turned into a huge cluster of people lining the streets up to the Citadel, making fast progress impossible for the moment. Just like having a conversation over the loud cheers. Some people tossed flowers and petals into the air. Most of them bowed when their future King rode past them.

There weren't just men, Arwen could also spot a few dwarves in the masses, and occasionally she thought to see the slender silhouette of an elf in the background. So some Firstborn had indeed gathered noticeably early here, considering the exact date of the coronation still wasn't set. There was no familiar face that she saw but amidst so many people, that would have been really hard.

And Faramir and his team of advisors that Mithrandir was a part of too, were probably in the Citadel. That was were Aragorn's and her way as well had to lead them first, though people were visibly disappointed that their soon-to-be-King never stopped, just answering the greetings with a friendly nod, without reacting to the questions coming from all sides.

The halflings, of course, were well-known in Minas Tirith. Since the celebration on the Field of Cormallen at the latest, people knew about their heroic deeds and were happy to see them.

Arwen, already being at Aragorn's side at the departure back then - and doubtlessly being the subject of more than one rumor, thanks to some tales of the healers in the sick camp of Cair Andros - was regarded with more than one curious side-glance, too. Quiet whispers arose.

Arwen quickly started to feel uncomfortable. Unfortunately, she couldn't just spur her horse on a little to get the critical assessment over with faster. Aragorn had to let people see him. As his companion, her only job was to wait, just like the hobbits did.

Aragorn didn't seem to notice her restlessness; instead, suddenly a set of innocent, green Hobbit-eyes was looking up at her, and Sam smiled at her shyly. "People are very curious about you, Lady Arwen. They love getting a she-elf as a Queen. They're just staring because most of them have never seen you before or because you look so different now, not all pale and haggard anymore."

"You just know what women want to hear." Merry steered his pony between them and grinned at Sam broadly who blushed to the tip of his ears.

"People really _are_ kind here, though. You should have seen how they welcomed us in the city back then." Proudly, the hobbit straightened up to his full height which made especially the children at the side of the road squeal. The little ones seemed most to have taken the halflings into their hearts, thanks to their cheerful manner. A flower promptly landed on Merry's head that he pulled from his bright curls, satisfied, to tuck it behind his ear. "You see?"

"Yes, it's plain to see: You know exactly how to drive the girls crazy, Meriadoc. I'm afraid you shouldn't be expecting love letters, though. Most of them probably don't even know how to write yet." Arwen winked at Sam when Merry started to grumble sulkily.

All nervousness aside, she could definitely be in some worse company right now.

It only got quieter in the Citadel. When the court guards locked the citizens out by closing the gate, the group was suddenly faced with an almost eerie silence. The courtyard was basically empty, except for a few attendants who bowed respectfully and the servants who took their horses.

Arwen thought to see a short movement behind one of the windows, in the chambers that the Steward and Lady Éowyn were living in until their move to South Ithilien, as Sam whispered to her from the side. Just a short shadow, the long, black hair of someone who was probably a maid, before the curtain was closed. One could almost think, the future King wasn't half as welcome at his own court as outside on the streets.

But that was fortunately when Faramir personally left the White Tower, with an open smile. There was little left of the reserved young man that Aragorn had described his substitute as being to Arwen. The son of the old Steward who had so tragically perished at the end of the war seemed to have given up his life as a Ranger for the moment and accordingly traded resilient clothes against a dark, tight monarch's robe. Noble enough, with adornments like the White Tree at the front, individual enough with a weapon's belt and long riding boots to assure permanent readiness. His strawberry blonde hair was tied back into a firm braid which provided a good view on mature features.

"This is a big day for Gondor." Faramir greeted Aragorn and the hobbits with an implied embrace before turning to Arwen.

"I am very pleased to finally meet you, Lady Arwen. I hope you'll be staying with us from now on."

"There soon will be nothing left but depressing memory of my old life in the west. There is nothing to keep me there." This time, Arwen's voice at least didn't tremble at that thought.

Éomer's words might have been harsh but they had made her realize that she didn't really have a choice for the moment. She couldn't have stayed in Imladris. She couldn't stand to be there, in a city that would bring everything home to her again and again that she would soon lose. If there would possibly really be a rift between Aragorn and her one day … Much might change until then.

"I leave my future wife to your care, my friend." Aragorn gently interrupted the conversation before it could become too personal for Arwen. "Not only does my heart belong to her, but she also has made quite a name for herself at the Black Gate, as you know. She shall want for nothing here. Until our wedding, she will stay in the Citadel as a court lady. Please arrange everything."

"Of course."

Faramir motioned Arwen to come with him. "My betrothed will be happy to help you get settled."

"I will be very much indebted to Lady Éowyn if she takes some of her precious time for me."

Arwen meant to reach for Aragorn's hand for a moment to say good-bye, Sam had her pause though.

The hobbit feigned a curtsy, cautiously so none of the others would notice.

Arwen thanked him inwardly, calling herself to order. At this court, she wasn't primarily an elf of very noble blood. No matter how deep her connection to Aragorn was, he was the ruler here, and she was not his wife _yet_. And she had to behave accordingly.

Shortly but respectfully, she executed the same bow that she had always used for other realm leaders in her function as the daughter of a Lord so far. "Thank you." She didn't miss the reluctance in Aragorn's eyes. He didn't want her to bow her head to him; he didn't want any of his friends to do to that, and certainly not his beloved. But he knew, like she knew, that they had to adapt to the etiquette.

Walking away already, Faramir stopped before Aragorn for another moment to get his attention. "We need to talk." His iron composure crumbled for a second, revealing worry in his pale eyes. It didn't look as fundamental as the burden of defending a whole country that he must have carried in the war, but not harmless enough to suffer delay either.

"Give me an hour. Tell Mithrandir to join us as well."

Now the joy about the return was replaced by undetermined fear after all. In spite of his noticeable tiredness, Aragorn hurried to climb the stairs to the building where his personal chambers were located.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, the main storyline of the whole series is finally revealed in this chapter, and I must admit, I'm a little excited. After all that foreshadowing, there's something to be said about the major villain's name being uttered for the first time.
> 
> Series part #6 will start in a week as usual, and as promised, my two elvish main idiots will be back to the scene very quickly then. A lot of fighting and action and a little court gossip and drama is waiting. I'd be happy to see you all around <3.

"I hope you will be comfortable here. It won't be for long anyway. You should find the most necessary things in the cabinet. Feel free to tell your valet or my betrothed if you need anything else. Then I'm sure you will be alright until your personal belongings from Imladris arrive." It didn't sound like a question, though Faramir had hardly given Arwen a chance yet to take even one look at her room.

While he kept the door half-open, with the way he braced himself on the doorframe, Arwen couldn't get past him. She couldn't say if it was intentional or not, given how nervously he was eying her, hesitating to say what was weighing on his heart.

"That our future King has chosen you is a big honor to be granted."

"I know that. I will do whatever I can to be worthy of this honor and not cause him any grief, especially not in public. I am aware of the duties coming with my stay here." Arwen disliked this single scrutinizing look even more than the many she'd earned in the streets earlier.

"Far be it from me to offend you, milady." Faramir's posture straightened, he raised his chin a little. Yes, the long weeks of leading the capital alone had left their traces. He wasn't exactly happy about meeting her with such an authority though, as his constant hemming and hawing revealed.

"When you left Gondor, there has already been unavoidable talk about why you rode west with His Majesty. Unfortunately, not all the healers were discreet enough to keep the extent of your war injuries to themselves. I would never presume to doubt Aragorn's and your relationship, but other people will. I urgently advise you to always hide your condition well and not provide even more fodder for conversation behind your back. That would not only get you in more trouble than you can be aware of."

"Do I have to infer from this greeting that _I_ am in some already?" Now Arwen's posture stiffened as well. Faramir's way of talking to her hurt her and created an abyss that she actually had not expected to appear so quickly between herself and anyone else here. "I expected more understanding. Shouldn't you know best how it is to, for whatever reason, not be seen as good enough to assume an office? Please let me go inside now. I suffer from injures from the events in Rohan that have surely filtered down to here as well, and I am tired after the long ride."

"Of course. Though I hope, you didn't just hear my words but understood them as well." Faramir waited for Arwen to answer with an offhand nod before he let her pass.

"My betrothed will visit you as soon as possible. Someone will bring you something to eat."

"I didn't know that I've been made a prisoner of these chambers." Arwen entered without even regarding the young man with another glance. "I will wait; I'm not in a mood for anything else anyway. Please go now. You should not let your future leader wait."

Arwen waited until Faramir had pulled the door close before allowing herself a deep breath. She nearly expected to hear the click of a key; then, unfortunately, she would have had to climb out the window immediately, get her horse and leave the city without looking back, all understanding for different manners at a court of Men aside. But there were only departing footsteps.

And now? Of course, she had anticipated that in the beginning, people would still eye her mistrustfully and that some would be meet her with rejection as well. But that she was apparently seen as a troubling element already, stung her heart so much that she even lost all by herself every interest in exploring the building.

Aragorn almost dropped his traveling bags upon opening the door of his chambers in the King's House. He had to force himself to not pause in amazement. He didn't want to make Faramir wait. And it would take more than a few minutes anyway, to get used to the changes in these rooms that so far, he had only been to a single time, briefly, before his departure.

The previously archaically furnished ruler's rooms had undergone major reconstruction. Any and all furniture had been crafted anew, made of valuable material, and still provided enough open space for Aragorn to make additions to his liking. Additional windows allowed more light in that didn't only illuminate comfortable seating accommodations but also thoughtful decoration. Paintings and small busts were telling stories about the different stages in Aragorn's life that not many people knew about. The members of the Fellowship or even some of the elves had doubtlessly lent a hand here.

Aragorn decided to save the shock that would be the bedroom for later and hurried to get ready for the meeting. Only when he bent down to his bag to rummage around for a fresh tunic, he realized that he wasn't feeling dizzy because the impressions in here were overwhelming him at all. He had hardly eaten anything for a remarkable time, which his stomach now commented on by a protesting growl.

Of course, the considerate servants had thought of that, too. There was a big basket with fruit waiting on a carved dresser.

Aragorn caught himself smiling for a moment. Although his focus had to be on his duties of course, not on the advantages of his office, the latter could hardly be denied. He snatched himself a big red apple and took an absent-minded bite already when his instincts belatedly reacted after all and he spat out the small piece because something alive was wriggling against his lip and a floury taste filled his mouth. Worm-eaten. That alone wouldn't have been dramatic. A Dúnadan knew exactly how quickly fruit spoilt. And in the wilderness, one often even had to make do with those when times were hard. But Aragorn couldn't deny a certain disconcertment, the same he had felt when he had spotted the deserted courtyard. Surely just an accident – right?

Again, his instincts knew better. Almost all the apples were rotten as showed when he cut them open with a knife from his belt, and the fruit hidden underneath them looked even worse.

It would have been naive, blaming this on an accident, thinking that the basket must have been old and just hadn't been taken away. Everything else here was way too perfect for that. No, someone had simply come up with a not so nice greeting for him.

Well, Aragorn had just lost his appetite for more than one reason.

Only when Aragorn entered Faramir's small, comfortable living room where he was being expected not only by his substitute and Mithrandir but also by a visitor he'd not expected to meet again so quickly, Aragorn realized how serious the situation really was. " _Ada_?"

"Come on, don't look so surprised, Estel." Elrond greeted him with a reserved smile; the embarrassing events at their last meeting were visibly not entirely forgotten yet.

"Did you think I wouldn't attend your coronation personally? Don't be ridiculous. A message from Minas Tirith reaching us shortly after your departure only accelerated my own. Additional elvish congratulators, not just from Imladris, will be gathering in the next few days. I promised you that, didn't I? You were always a close friend of our kin. Any of us who can spare some time and is not busy securing the borders will be present when you finally take office. For urgency reasons, my companion and I chose a quicker route than you, but we've only just arrived ourselves. Had I known, your visit to Rohan would be so short, we'd have tried to catch up with you."

"I'm glad. I had hoped very much that you can make it happen somehow." Aragorn's voice was missing some warmth as well. Not only did Elrond's words contain a warning about the events here in Minas Tirith that made the lump in his throat grow … He wondered if he would ever be able to look at his foster father again, without feeling the guilt about robbing him of his daughter forever.

But apparently, there were far more important matters to talk about right now. And Aragorn felt annoyed that no one had tried to deliver a message to him on his journey if it was something so grave.

"What is going on here that gets through even to Imladris, ada? I trust your judgment like no one else's. If this is upsetting you so much, I should have long learned about it."

"More worries on your shoulders wouldn't have made your horses run any faster. There would still be enough time left for you to greet old friends," Mithrandir threw in from the side, in mock offense, probably to brighten the mood a little. Under his long white beard, the corners of his mouth were twitching.

"Forgive me, mellon, but you, fortunately, know exactly the kind of place you hold in my heart. If I told you how important you are to me whenever we meet, I wouldn't get around to do anything else."

Aragorn regarded the wizard with a short smile and a fleeting bow of his head, with his palm resting against his shoulder, but then turned to Faramir again. His expression a lot more serious, he threw his substitute the apple he'd brought.

"The pantries of Minas Tirith used to be better equipped, by the way."

"It's exactly as I feared." His lips tightly pressed together, Faramir put the fruit down in the middle of the table. "That there is even someone among the Citadel servants who's one of them, exceeds my worst expectations. We need to keep a sharper eye on the kitchen. That could just as well have been poison."

"You're talking in riddles, my friend. Slowly and from the beginning, please."

Aragorn let himself fall onto a high armchair right next to his foster father, arduously ignoring Elrond's piercing glance.

"Things have changed while you were gone. So far, the storm is hardly more than a whisper that none but a few insiders can hear, but if we don't step in, it won't take long before it turns into an outcry." Faramir agitatedly wiped his forehead, dropping the mask of the unruffled stadtholder for good. "Not everyone in Gondor is happy about your return, Aragorn."

"That's what I expected," Aragorn drawled into the following uncomfortable silence. "My journey was a decision that couldn't stay without any consequences at all. But when I arrived, I didn't get the feeling that the folk is bearing a grudge." But even while he said that he saw images in his head that he had suppressed during the ride to the Citadel, discarding them as singular instances.

Closing windows and curtains, like in Éowyn's room. Occasionally, someone leaving the streets almost in a hurry, dragging their children along by their hands. Evil glares instead of joy.

"There'll always be people doubting the line of Kings. In the beginning, your brother was one of them himself, Faramir. Before I entered Gondor for the first time in the war, I'd been thinking about that for decades already. Not everyone welcomes change. And this folk has long witnessed the stable and safe leadership of the Steward-house. I've always been aware that I would first have to prove myself good enough for my new responsibilities."

"I'm afraid, you underestimate the situation." The painful but unfortunately necessary mention of Boromir had thrown Faramir off guard for just a moment. When he reached back to a dresser and got a rolled-up, tattered parchment out of the top drawer, his hands had already stopped shaking … or now did for a different reason.

"These keep on showing up, no matter how many men I send out to collect and burn them. They're calling themselves 'Stewardaides'."

On the scroll, it said in big scarlet letters, _Resist!_ , followed by a few slogans that had Aragorn's expression darken more and more.

_A wildling from the North at the head of the country who prefers traveling over leading?!_

_Don't let the line of the proud, wise Stewards of Gondor fail!_

_One of the crooked elven breed can never become our Queen!_

_Gondor is opening the borders – Rohan is becoming too dangerous!_

_Arnor left us alone in the war. It does not deserve our loyalty!_

_A clear voice of the people instead of false words from wizards and elf-lovers!_

_STOP ARAGORN OF THE NORTH! STAND UP!_

"What do you plan to do?" It was Elrond who spoke up after a moment of gloomy silence, his slender hands firmly folded on his crossed legs. The fine lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, from millennia of experience especially also with conflicts like Gondor, suddenly seemed to be facing one, seemed to have deepened since their last meeting.

"Nothing but what I had in mind anyway." Aragorn got up with a jerk and threw the parchment into the fire with a scornful movement.

"I will be crowned King and lead the rebuilding of this country as well as of Arnor. I will send out immediate help to the regions that I have seen chaos and distress in on my journey. From now on, people will see me more often than they might want to because I won't rest for a minute until this city blooms in its old glory. I will not allow new distrust to arise between the folks. Very soon, a new settlement of Firstborn in North Ithilien will heal the wounds of the war that nature is still carrying. From there, elves will be coming here as well, to expand the city's gardens and decorate the walls with life."

In a moment of crumbling composure, he slapped his open palm on the table. "So these people think, they'll soon have an incompetent Dúnadan on their thrown? They will learn what someone is capable of who has been raised by elves." His eyes found Elrond's once more, and this time, the answer in his foster father's bright orbs was pure pride.

"I will most definitely not pull up any walls, just to prove that King Éomer is not planning an invasion here. My mission is peace. People will get an even greater King than all their prophecies could ever have made them hope. But if these cowards want a fight, I will give them one as soon as they dare to show their face to me. Elessar will prove that it's not only his appearance that makes him more similar to his renowned ancestors than many before him."

"I see, my fears were unfounded, Estel," Elrond smiled. "I should finally learn that your determination is not only unwavering in battle."

"It might not be able to solve everything though," Faramir tempered the mood a little right again. With his arms crossed on the table, he leaned forward a bit, so he could talk more quietly as if someone was eavesdropping.

"They will not be looking for conversation or even open conflict. They're like ghosts. They have seen you in the war and know exactly, they would have nothing on you in a battle. So everything is happening underground. They meet where the guards have no access and are gone quicker than you even know they have assembled. They write their parchments in a place we have not been able to find so far, probably far outside the city. They recruit people in harmless conversations at the side of the road, at the marketplace, at celebrations, even during home visits. And at that, they're so inconspicuous that almost none of the citizens reporting such a disturbance to us could give a good description. They know, the majority of people are on your side, Aragorn, so they will stab you from behind when they think you unguarded. That scares me. You need all your strength for your duties. Somebody has to watch your back. Maybe Éowyn and I should reconsider our move."

"That would only strengthen the hopes of these misguided believers," Mithrandir warned.

"Besides, we will give them nothing of what they demand." Aragorn shook his head too. "I will not have them blackmail me. They _want_ you here in the city. They have made you their hero, whether you like it or not. If you stay longer than planned, they'll make it look like you do out of discontent with my coronation, to hold on to your power in Gondor."

"But I'm worried about you." Faramir started to sound annoyed. "Isn't it warning enough for you that one of their people is obviously coming and going to your chambers? You can't solve everything on your own. It might not be a long road, getting from Emyn Arnen to here, but if every minute might count …"

"You leave behind a more than capable personal guard," Aragorn interrupted him calmingly. "I am very grateful for everything you have achieved in my absence, Faramir, but you can't feel responsible for everything. Your duties, and your heart, too, lie elsewhere. I know exactly how dangerous it is, having an enemy so close by my side. I'm still a stranger in these halls, and these men know every corner of the city. But the speech at my coronation will make sure, they will soon have no safe place in Minas Tirith anymore."

"And the folk shall not have to wait for that anymore, not an hour longer than necessary," Mithrandir spoke up again admonishingly. "The city has been working on preparations ever since the news reached us that you will soon arrive, Aragorn. Arnor has not sent a delegation, but we received a message from the biggest city there still remaining, that the people accept Gondor's decision regarding your reign for the moment. The future of the realms is now entirely in your hands. Only the crown is still missing."

"With your approval, the announcement can be made this very hour," Faramir nodded. "Given the mistrust, the Stewardaides try to kindle in people towards Rohan, we should just wait until King Éomer can to join us. We've been expecting him at the wedding anyway. But in a few days, Minas Tirith shall finally see the celebration that people have been longing for so much."

"Even more rushed than I expected; but then again, I didn't think that everything would be already planned out before I even arrived." Aragorn felt exhausted after such serious problems had been revealed to him. He had expected discontent among the people, but not an organized uprising. He had even more work to do than he'd thought. "I am ready when Gondor is."

"Then let us not waste another minute." Relief spread on Faramir's strained face. Apparently, after the long journey, even people who had witnessed Aragorn's tenacity in the war had started to have doubts. "I'll take care of the announcement and the last tasks."

"I will send pigeons to the travelers to inform them that they have to cut their breaks short if they want to arrive on time." Elrond said farewell to the Steward with a short wave.

"Rest now, Estel. You've gone through a long time of worrying, and you're about to face even more struggle. If you allow, my companion will stay in Minas Tirith for some time, to help you solve the problem with these rebels. That's what I brought him for."

"If people see elves seemingly meddling with realm affairs, that will probably lead to even more criticism. I will not cave, but I don’t want to provoke anyone on purpose either."

Aragorn sighed deeply but nodded then. "I'm happy about any Firstborn's voice near to me, it just shouldn't sound in my official team of advisors. If the elf you chose is satisfied with functioning as the leader of the elvish works in the city, he is more than welcome. And I will seek his council as often as it's necessary. But I can understand if he's not ready to play such a role."

"He will understand your caution." Before he left, Elrond quickly put a hand on his shoulder.

Finally, only Mithrandir and Aragorn were left in the room. They stayed sitting in the light of the chimney-fire for a few silent moments, both afraid of words that would only hurt right now.

But then Mithrandir did ask, and Aragorn told him before he even realized he was about to answer. About the time gone, the many blows of fate and his long way back to the life he was destined to lead. He skillfully avoided mentioning Legolas' tragic loss but he was pretty certain, Mithrandir could read between the lines and would understand – regarding Arwen's condition, as well.

"Don't burden your heart with even more than it already has to deal with." Mithrandir gently put a hand on his lower arm. "It is now your realm and your people who have to come first and who need steadfast leadership more than ever. Everything else, time will heal. You are not alone."

"I know, mellon, I know." Leaning forward, Aragorn braced his elbows on his knees. He stared at the Ring of Barahir on his hand and turned it into a hard fist.

"I sacrificed everything in my life for this land and would have died for it anytime. Nothing will ever change about that."

"The day is grey and heavy for this time of year. Let's leave it behind." With a little groan, Mithrandir got up, murmuring something about much too hard benches and shuffled to the door, braced on his staff. It was one of the rare instances that he let the few traces of old age show that were ailing the body he'd once chosen for this realm, slower than they would harm other beings but consistently. Mithrandir had accomplished more in the post-war era than anyone would have expected or even demanded of him. He seemed as tired as Aragorn felt.

Aragorn's journey into the west ended with just as much wistfulness as it had started.


End file.
